


The Great Pretender(s)

by atlasian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Dean Winchester, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, HEA, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Castiel (Supernatural), Oblivious Dean Winchester, Sharing a Bed, Supportive Sam Winchester, but like just a little bit only because Dean’s a disaster bi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlasian/pseuds/atlasian
Summary: The idea of Dean and Cas together-together is an uproarious joke.When they start to pretend it’s not, everything goes haywire.(or the one where everything is fine until Dean and Cas decide to help each other out of an awkward situation by making everything far more awkward)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 207
Kudos: 273





	1. Dean Winchester is Certifiably Insane

**Author's Note:**

> As we're coming to the bittersweet end of Supernatural, I felt the urge to soften the blow with some tropey fluff and a happy journey with a happy ending. I hope it's a fun one for all and that my run-on, stream-of-consciousness narrative doesn't irk anyone too much. Feedback is always super appreciated and makes me oh-so joyful :)
> 
> Thank you to all who visited this story and I hope you enjoy!

“You’re certifiably insane,” Cas hums from behind a gargantuan hardback that covers his entire head. Dean knows his expression is probably a scene of disinterest.

To Cas, the conversation has ended.

He’s thumbed through another page of his book. He’s lounged too casually on their couch to be even a little invested in what Dean is proposing. He’s paying such minimal attention to Dean that it makes Dean’s skin go all itchy and lips go all twitchy like a tempestuous child’s.

“Stop pouting,” says Cas, still not looking at Dean.

“I’m not pouting. Maybe if you’d put that stupid brick of bore down for one goddamn second—”

Cas patiently sets down ‘A World Without Bees, The Mysterious Decline of The Honeybee & What It Means For Us’ and appraises Dean with an amused look. He gestures with one sweeping hand for Dean to continue. His smile is faint, but Dean has catalogued the collection of Castiel Novak Smiles so thoroughly over the past two-something decades that he knows this one as at-least-a-little-beguiled.

Dean clears his throat dramatically, perches his ass onto the coffee table facing where Cas is sat, and relaunches back into his proposal, “all I’m saying is that it’s the best and least awkward clear out for both of us. I don’t want Ben to think I’m leaving his mom because I’m just—not that into her—”

“Even though it’s the truth.”

“—and let’s face it, Megleficent the Reigning Bitch of Evil isn’t going to loosen her talons from you anytime soon unless you’re out of the dating pool for her entire gender—”

“Dean,” comes Cas’ warning tone.

“Okay, fine, sorry, I know. We’re friends with Meg. We _like_ Meg,” he says in a sickeningly endearing tone, because he absolutely despises Meg, and he doesn’t understand how she managed to claw her way out of hell and into their friendship group. “Wouldn’t we like her so much more if she would just take the hint and stop slithering into your pants though?”

“I am perfectly content in my…arrangement with Meg—”

“You look like you want to burn your flesh off when she sits next to you and kisses your cheek or— _god_ —licks your ear. You’re just too chicken-shit to reject her outright, so you’ve looped yourself into this ouroboros fuck up of uncomfortable friendship and then eventual reluctant drunk sex.”

Cas levels Dean with a look that means last warning.

“Come on, man,” Dean barrels on with an edge of frustration. “You like Meg but you’re not interested in her like that. I get it,” he nods meaningfully, “and I can’t avoid that yoga studio forever because my floppy-haired hippie brother owns the damn place and I’m his investor. If we tell them we’re together, Meg leaves you alone at our way too frequent group meet-ups and I don’t seem like a dick to Lisa and Ben, just someone that likes your dick.”

Cas snorts and goes to pick up his book again. “Sensible. I see you’ve resorted all possible alternatives before fake-jumping into bed with your best friend.”

“Well, um, I don’t know how else we’d get Meg off your sexy ass, sunshine, except we just kick her out the group…” Dean is momentarily excited at the prospect before huffing defeatedly, “but she gets on with Rowena like a hell-house on fire, and has this weird romance to enemies to friendship history with Sam, and I’m pretty sure she and Benny and Charlie bonded pretty hard during their Satanic Shadow Vampire-Orc LARPing at college—which—weird, but back to my thing—so Sam won’t let me just fire Lisa either because—”

“That would be very wrong.”

“—and apparently she’s our best teacher. Very bendy.”

“I believe that’s what landed you in your current predicament,” says Cas with a hint of a smirk, “your appreciation of bendy women.”

“Helpful, Cas.”

“As far as I’m concerned, this seems more like a ‘you’ problem,” Cas says in a finalising manner, even injecting finger air quotes, _the dork_ , “I believe I warned you several times not to sleep with one of your employees, and especially not to involve yourself so much in her child’s life."

“It’s not like I went into that relationship with the intention of being buddy-buddy with her kid,” Dean mutters defensively, “but he was cool, and he thought I was really cool.”

“And you often promptly, without hesitation, become best friends with any stray child that thinks you are cool? That sounds to me like concerning behaviour, Dean.”

“I became best friends with you when you were a stray child and you never once said I was cool,” Dean protests, poking Cas’ chest with a socked toe in jest.

“Untrue,” Cas interjects, “you turned up to a field trip in January wearing nothing but jeans and a t-shirt. I magnanimously offered you one of my fleeces and mentioned that you looked like a vibrating icicle, which, if we extrapolate, would be considered rather cool in temperature.”

“Aw, Cas, I love it when you tell the story of how we met,” Dean lilts in a sing-song voice and tilts forward to bend his forearms onto Cas’ knees. He widens his eyes just a smidge and blinks up adoringly at a wry-looking Cas. “You offering me the fleece off your back at such a tender age of eleven, me being nice enough to later welcome you into my awesome clique even though you were a massive weird nerd—”

“Your clique consisted of Benny and your seven-year-old brother.”

“—and I just think it’s a beautiful start to the tale of our epic love that nobody would ever question. We’ve been joined at the everything since then and I know it sounds a little crazy at first, but—”

“Certifiably insane,” Cas corrects.

“— _but_ it works because—because think about it. Wouldn’t it actually be pretty disrespectful and maybe even a little homophobic of everyone to call bullshit on it? Why is it so implausible for us to realise our feelings for each other now? Yes, okay, it’s a little late in the game but we’re at the age where we’re ready to settle down now and look, oops, it seems we already have with each other in this beautiful two-bedroom apartment, which, now that we only need one bedroom, is equipped with a spare one for our upcoming child—”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Dean, we’re having children now?” Cas scolds, abandoning his book entirely to smack it at Dean's shoulder.

“Okay, I get it, too much, too soon. It won’t get to that point. It’ll just be for a few weeks until Megatron moves onto her next obsession and Lisa and Ben thinks of me as just their friendly neighbourhood gay studio owner slash friend—”

“Then what?” Cas squints at Dean, and Dean grins, because it seems like Cas is finally, subtly, being kindled with interest—dubious though it still may be.

“Easy. Our love burned too brightly so we had to break it off for a little while. See other people. Turns out we’re not bi or gay or straight, we're just somewhere on the spectrum and it was just to each other to hence we were attracted--"

"You aren't using that correctly."

"Then a few months later, oh, we've just been a bit too close all this time and that’s what messed with our heads during our simultaneous mid-life crisis. It’ll be a funny story that comes up when everyone gets a bit drunk in ten years time at a disastrous Christmas party."

"This all sounds disastrous to me."

"Dean and Cas tried the whole relationship thing once even though they’re pretty darn happy with their respective wives now. They're just really, really good friends. Platonic soulmates, if you will. It would have been a crime to not have tried it at least once. Isn’t that so silly and funny?”

Cas has crossed his arms and is looking at Dean with a indiscernible expression, which--scary--because Dean knows all of Cas’ expressions. The best he can milk out of this one is that Cas is a little mixed between impressed, horrified, and contemplative.

Eventually, he says, with wariness, “you’ve thought a lot about this.”

Dean shrugs, pushes his palms into Cas’ thighs for comfort. “What can I say? Gets lonely in my head while I’m lying next to Lisa and feeling bad about it the entire time. I know I was joking about it but there’s no way I would actually fire her or do something fucked up like that. I don’t want her to feel awkward around me if I bump into her at the studio. I don’t want Ben thinking his mom just isn’t good enough when really it’s…it’s me, you know? What am I gonna say, it’s not you or your son, it’s me? Something in me feels like it’s just not clicking? Like it’s never clicked with any woman I’ve ever been with and it’s just not doing it with you either?” Dean glances downwards and worries at his bottom lip with the sharp line of his teeth.

He realises he’s still draped over Cas like a pair of old curtains, so he backs away and leans his palms against the cool wooden table instead of Cas’ warm body. “Also, I really fucking hate Meg. I can’t wait to see her face when I tell her I’m the one banging you now.”

Cas’ face transforms from a soft worried look to one that is full-bellied chortling. “Have you given thought to how our friends would likely have a problem lying about something this disreputable, discounting the fact that Charlie especially is a terrible liar?”

“So we pretend to everyone for a bit. It can’t be that hard. We live together, we’re always together outside work, flirting like twelve-year-old girls for banter, _and_ we’ve made out before,” Dean reminds him, wriggling his eyebrows.

Scandalised, Cas hides his face behind his hands, shakes his head convulsively, and groans long and hard. Probably trying to banish the memories of when they decided to get hitched at Sam’s bachelor party — because obviously, in their guttered liquor-soaked brains, it would be hilarious to steal Sam and Eileen’s thunder by getting Dean into a store-bought $30 wedding dress and announcing their undying love unto one another at A Elvis Chapel, Vegas, while Cas’ older brother Gabriel filmed the entire thing on his flip-phone.

Unfortunately, the morning after hadn’t been so chipper with Dean waking up head-first in a toilet bowl and Cas conked out, limbs akimbo, in a vomit-coated bathtub. They almost missed the wedding and Sam’s honeymoon consisted of him assisting Dean and Cas with their quickie stress-fuelled annulment via Skype.

In lieu of legal fees and ‘damages’ for their interrupted honeymoon, eight years later, Dean is still paying for Sam’s first drink at every one of their gatherings while Cas is responsible for Eileen’s.

According to a disgruntled Sam set against the backdrop of Maui’s sunset, Dean and Cas will be doing this until one of them dies — which, incidentally, is what Cas looks like he is wishing upon himself right now.

“I can’t believe I’ve let this conversation fester for so long. It’s stupid, and outlandish, and, if I must say, a little fucked up and weird,” Cas grumbles behind the protective barrier of his hands. “Meg’s unwanted affections and an awkward breakup isn’t enough to warrant something so—so insane. I’d have to be insane to agree.”

“Certifiably insane,” Dean reminds him with a wolfish grin.

“No one would believe it. There’s no way. Sam and Benny have known us since we were kids. Charlie and Meg and Eileen since college.” Cas stands abruptly, with purpose, only to pace the room aimlessly. “They know you and me. There’s never been anything between us…and—” Cas stops, frowns, and zeroes in on Dean with a scrutiny that makes him blush. It almost feels like he’s being undressed by Cas’ eyes.

“What?” he snaps.

“I’m not sure that even if I was gay or bisexual that you’d be my type.”

Dean splutters his outrage through a bubble of spit and indignant noises. “Excuse me? I’m everyone’s type!”

Cas raises an eyebrow and drags his gaze from Dean’s face downwards along his body.

“Hey!” Dean cries and catapults a nearby slipper at Cas’ head. It misses by an inch, but only because Cas tilts his head to avoid it. “Stop looking at me like that! I’m not some piece of meat, you asshole.”

“I’m only trying to determine the viability of our narrative, if there were to be one."

“Yeah—well—you—you’ve got too big of a stick up your butt for a good time anyways and you have stupid hair—” Dean’s actually quite jealous of Cas’ goddamn pristine tousled bedhead, “and I wouldn’t date you either, jerk.”

“Considering that you need my assistance in this absolutely moronic and self-destructive scheme, it’s good that you’re being so nice,” Cas drawls, laying on the sarcasm.

“You started it,” Dean mumbles.

“You misunderstand. I only meant that I typically go for a more subdued type.”

Dean scoffs, because Cas’ track list of past lovers looks more like an assembly of deranged to terrifically disturbed, rather than _subdued._

“But that’s only me projecting my own traits onto what my type is as opposed to what I’m actually attracted to, which I suppose, from experience, seems to be somewhat—”

“Batshit crazy?” Dean supplies.

“Extroverted and attractive, I would say,” Cas sniffs, then assesses Dean again with a gaze that feels too heavy, “and I suppose that’s you, just in a different body than I’m used to.”

Dean feels his chest puff a bit with pride and quickly rebound with bewilderment. There’s a bounce of giddiness hopping inside him at Cas’ tentative credence in the plan, though it’s also directed at something _other_ that he can’t quite name.

“So…” he sways his shoulders back and forth expectantly, lips pursed, “that’s a yay over nay? We gonna fake bone and fake fall in love or what?”

Cas shifts from one foot to another.

Dean smirks, springs upwards in the direction of Cas —who to his credit only widens his eyes slightly in surprise before a body is launched at him— and tackles him to the floor.

When they were much younger, before bones stiffened and backs ached and hard muscles melted into soft fat pockets at their sides, they would roughhouse like this to settle disagreements. Dean would smack Cas’ cheek in rapid succession while having him pinned beneath until he agreed to let them watch another Clint Eastwood movie over nature documentaries.

Now, when they do this, only very occasionally, perhaps once or twice a year, it’s Cas and his much better physique that often overpowers Dean. He blames the taken-for-granted years of burgers and pies and milkshakes for letting him down next to Cas’ steady, sensible, boring diet.

Now, when they do this, Cas is the one on top of Dean.

Cas’ right leg hooks over Dean’s waist and he flips them over in one fluid motion, and Dean erupts with laughter and high-pitched screams of protest as Cas licks his palm and presses the slobbery wet skin onto Dean’s cheek. He presses down, until Dean’s face is smushed against the carpet.

“I win,” Cas declares heartily, slaps Dean’s cheek twice and firm, starts counting to ten.

Around seven, Dean surges up and catches Cas’ lips with his. He sucks in the bottom lip and nips it lightly. The kiss is unconsciously returned for a moment and Dean sinks into it before Cas is suddenly jerking backwards with owlish eyes, flushed cheeks, and a mouth, a real pretty mouth, Dean notices, that is moving wordlessly like a puppet without his ventriloquist.

Dean’s insides are doing terrifying flippy things and it feels a bit butterfly-like— _nope_ —so he quickly squashes whatever weird feeling it was—definitely not butterflies—and returns to his original purpose.

In Cas’ catatonic what-the-fuck state, Dean is able to fully take advantage of the loosened grip on his wrist, not to mention the one on his cheek that has completely left the station and is now gripping tight at the carpet beneath them, and he upends Cas’ body entirely until he is fixed above him.

The victory feels a little less victorious than he’d imagined.

Dean is back-pedalling with high speed from the pat-on-the-back cleverness of his plan. He also starts to war over what he was trying to win during this wrestle in the first place.

Cas was right. Shit. Awkward. Fucked up. So, so, so weird. Nothing between them has ever been weird. It wasn’t even weird when they slobbered each other’s faces right after they got married and then pretended to hump each other on the altar. They’ve shared beds, they’ve seen each other naked in locker rooms, they’ve kissed each other’s cheeks and held hands and danced together ridiculously and made jokes about having sex with each other and why is this suddenly weird? Why is Dean’s heart pattering hard against his chest and his vision is blurring and his breath is—

“Ten,” Cas says breathlessly from beneath him and Dean bounds off him so fast he knocks his head on the edge of the coffee table.

“Shit,” Cas shouts, and crawls over to where Dean is hissing and grasping the back of his skull in pain. “Shit, are you okay?”

Dean’s competent response is “bleurgh,” followed by a bleary, “I win,” accompanied by a lazy thumbs up.

Cas blinks, face otherwise blank. Eventually, he scoffs and says, “only because you pulled a _Get Smart_ on me.”

Like that, Dean convulses into howling laughter and it makes his head throb a little stronger but it’s worth it because of the absolute look of betrayal and menace on Cas’ face.

This is why he loves Cas, because Cas always makes things better, in any shitty or weird or uncomfortable or unhappy situation. Cas makes things click.

“I was trying to show you how good you could have it,” Dean teases, lifting himself into a sitting position and posing to Cas his most charming smile. They’re facing each other, cross-legged, with Dean making kissy-faces and Cas glaring him down.

“All you did was show us both how weird things could get.”

“But now that we both acknowledge it was weird, it’s not weird.”

“Your logic is idiot-proof,” Cas says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Dean bumps his knee with Cas’, testing the waters, and thank god, no spark or electricity or _weirdness_ spikes at the touch. He’s a bit uncertain whether the clouded memory of what just happened is clogged in his brain by adrenaline or a concussion, but right now,he’s having a difficult time remembering what was so bad about it.

Cas looks unimpressed and Dean tries not to look too eager. “It doesn’t matter either way because I won, so I think we should do it.”

“I’m more sure than ever on _no,_ ” Cas says dryly.

“I’ll get the yes.” Dean swings his legs onto Cas’ lap just to be a jerk and Cas, certainly annoyed, instantly shoves them off more roughly than usual. “I got you to set a bag of shit on fire in Henriksen’s office senior year and you were on course to becoming valedictorian."

"I was valedictorian."

"My point is I can get a yes from you on anything. I'll get it on this eventually, Cas. Let's just flip to the last page and be done with it, huh? What'd'ya say, bud?"

“Doubtful.” Cas glowers at him one last time, then shuffles onto his feet and snatches his book to his chest with an air of you’ve-wasted-both-our-times-and-I’m-not-speaking-to-you-until-dinner.

Dean’s grinning smugly, overconfident, until he realises he’s been watching Cas’ ass the entire time it’s been moving towards the door.

He jumps back, alarmed.


	2. Lisa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I had abandoned this for so so long 😭 This was something I was so excited about writing but some personal issues and time constraints just got the better of me...
> 
> After that finale, though, yikes.
> 
> This fandom is literally all we have left of the ending Destiel were robbed of.
> 
> Anyway, here’s some fluff! I hope it helps anyone looking to lighten their heartbreak over the ending ❤️

“I don’t understand how you got me to say yes to this,” mutters an ashen-faced Cas.

His hand is looped cautiously at the crook of Dean’s elbow and he looks like he’s about to pass out— or pass back into reality from a fever dream.

It takes three steps inside the yoga studio for what they’re doing to crash into Dean like a monster truck with loose breaks. He is immensely grateful for Cas’ grip tightening on him, holding them both upright.

“Okay, okay,” Dean gasps, a little breathless, “stupid idea, really fucking crazy and stupid, let’s just—let’s just go, alright?”

“Dean, breathe.”

“You breathe!”

“Stop yelling! This is a yoga studio!”

“It’s my studio, I’ll yell if I want to!” Dean shouts at an instantly regrettable volume. He somehow forgets to lower it when he powers through thoughtlessly with, “you’re also yelling, by the way!”

“Will you just—” Cas stops and sips at the air slowly with a steadying inhale. His eyes quiver shut then opens firmly with resolve. “Can we just go?”

Dean kind of resents his calm. “Why did you even let us come here? How could you even let me talk you into this? You’re supposed to be the smart one! The sane one! The rest of my life pretty much banks on you stopping me from doing and talking you into insane shit like this, Cas!”

Cas cheeks flush with a fury ready to burn a thousand suns. Dean is so relieved that once his mouth opens, preparing to unleash a wicked rampage, his brother approaches them to interrupt.

His brother is approaching them. Sam is approaching them. Shit.

Dean is no longer relieved.

Belatedly, they both realise they’re still locked in a far too intimate embrace. Both of Cas’ hands are tucked into Dean’s arm now. They’re standing closer than normal even for them. Their foreheads are almost touching and unconsciously, Dean’s eyes flicker to Cas’ lips. Not because he wants to—God—kiss him or anything. He’s just vividly aware that that must be what it must’ve looked like was about to happen. Because that’s what they had been trying to emulate. Yeah. Just Dean doesn’t remember them drifting closer together like this and the plan was only to stride in, arm in arm like a casual couple, not—

“Er—guys? Hi!” Sam’s voice punctures Dean’s bubble of an accumulating mental crisis.

“Hello Sam,” Cas greets way too collectedly.

“What’s going on here? Why are you here and doing—that?” He laughs, a bit awkwardly like he’s not in on the joke just quite yet.

“Why are _you_ here?” Dean retaliates in a screech resembling that of a manic goblin’s.

Sam stares blankly while Cas inches his head ever so slightly to glare at Dean.

“He _works_ here,” Cas hisses under his breath into Dean’s ear. Too close, breath too warm.

“I work here,” Sam repeats, his eyes flickering between the two of them with bemusement. “Are you guys here to fight or make out or—? Is this another bit? Like, are you doing a Brüno thing? Why are you—I don’t really get it.”

“We’re here to see Lisa. Well, Dean is. I’m here to support him.”

Dean’s head swivels so fast towards Cas that he feels a definite pull of muscle.

“What?” he says dumbly.

“Wait, hang on a second,” Sam halts them with a hand that breaks them apart, making Dean whimper a little at the loss of Cas’ comforting touch. “You’re breaking up with her, aren’t you? At her place of work? Couldn’t you have just gone over to her apartment or ask her to yours? Dean, goddammit, I _told_ you not to ask her out—“

“Dean didn’t want to ask her not to bring Ben. It would have...incensed the issue before he managed to speak with her. He has a good reason, Sam, I promise. We’ll fill you in at dinner tonight,” Cas explains this like a professional actor with careless ease. So far, Dean has only managed to bumble uselessly about like a newborn guppy.

Cas even goes in for the kill with a reassuring palm to Sam’s shoulder which manages to sink his inflating ire. A soft look crosses Sam’s face. Dean thanks whatever higher powers there may be, praying that Sam takes his yoga bag and vamooses on along now.

Then his eyes blow up with panic. “Oh my god, are you dying?”

“What?” Dean shouts. “No!”

Sam looks to Cas who affirms, “he’s alright, Sam.”

It’s like Dean’s not even in the room, or worse, in one but as a child with two parents hovering over him like he doesn’t understand big adult words and big adult ideas. He huffs and crosses his arms petulantly.

“Although he could do with eating more vegetables and leading a less sedentary lifestyle,” Cas chips in, completely superfluously, which has Sam nodding along. “You do partially own this place, Dean, you could try attending some classes some time.”

“Alright, when did this become an intervention?” he snaps, annoyed but barely invested in said annoyance because a lot of other concerns are spinning in the whirlpool of his brain.

“Cas,” he intones and jabs his head in the direction of ‘away from here.’ “Got something to support me with here, remember? Can we, you know...”

“Right, of course,” he says, dusts off his spotless trench coat and gives a perfunctory nod to Sam. This, despite having known the kid since he was helping him learn to read. Dean’s methods had been far too stick-y and not carrot-y enough, according to Cas, though Dean is sure he had used much more eloquent wording.

“We’ll see you later, Sam.”

“Um, alright,” a flustered Sam replies. His pursed lips looks like he’s holding back a thousand and one questions that Dean is not ready to answer.

Dean does a demented movement with his hand that was supposed to be a wave and ushers Cas along at sonic speed.

“What the hell, Cas? I thought we were bailing!”

“I panicked.”

“You _panicked_?”

Cas has the gall to look sheepish. “Yes.” His shifty eyes turn accusatory towards Dean. “You went along with it.”

“Why are we still walking towards—”

“Dean!” Another interruption that has Dean’s heart squirming in contorted anguish. This time it’s distinctly female and distinctly more terrifying than Sam’s.

“Lisa. Heh. Hey.”

“Hey,” she chirps, smiling at him sweetly, “and...Cas. Hey,” her voice drops an octave as she addresses his best friend. So does her smile. She does this a lot. It’s one of the few reasons Dean has identified as to why she never clicked.

“Hello Lisa,” Cas replies, strained. His lips appears as if hooks are yanking at its corners. Whatever Dean’s forced smile looks like, he feels better in knowing it could never be as bad as Cas’.

Lisa picks up on it, of course. She was always very smart, and pretty, and bendy, and— “Something going on? I think you’ve only been here twice since we’ve met, Dean...and Cas, I don’t think you’ve ever—”

“Dean and I are dating,” Cas blurts out.

His words pinch a tense space around them and all three tumble into this strange black hole of awkward silence. Lisa frowns, like she’s processing whether it’s a joke. Dean’s body slowly turns to stare at Cas, because his neck now hurts too much to move. It’s very bad timing but he thinks he’s dying because something is striking repeatedly and very forcefully against his ribcage from the inside and that can’t be normal.

“Dean?” Lisa says tentatively.

Cas’ brandishes his trembling but thick and reassuring fingers to lace through Dean’s. He shakes it at Lisa and smiles like an asylum patient off their meds.

“Dean and I are dating, and we’re in love,” he announces again clumsily, matching Dean’s hysterical loudness from earlier, “which I guess means you two are no longer...dating? But not because of you or your son. You’re both great, but Dean is gay.” He gestures his free hand at himself. “For me. What I mean to say is—”

“I think she’s got it, Cas,” Dean finds himself interrupting testily, “can I talk to you privately for a fucking second? Please?”

“Me?” Cas asks with an owlish expression.

“Yes, you, dumbass,” retorts Dean, resolutely ignoring poor flabbergasted Lisa. He once again has to haul ass with one hand urging Cas along with him by the shoulder, as far out of earshot as he can reach without leaving her by herself entirely.

“I can’t believe I’m having to ask this again within a five minute window, but what the hell? Seriously, what the fuck was all of that? _Dean is gay_?”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, squinting, “did you want to be bi instead?”

“I can’t believe this,” Dean shakes his head, gnawing at his lips, “She’s never going to buy this. You acted like a fucking alien out there! More than usual! Have you ever met a human being before? Who talks like that? We were supposed to be leaving, Cas. This was a bad idea. What—what the _hell_ , man?”

“This was your idea,” Cas huffs, “and my apologies, but this isn’t exactly a normal situation for me either. I panicked.”

“Stop saying you panicked!”

Cas glances nervously aside to Lisa, who to her credit is still only frowning slightly at them and hasn’t attempted to lop either of their heads off yet.

“Hush,” Cas whispers.

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake—”

“We’ll say it’s a prank,” Cas offers with an optimism Dean is seething at right now.

“A prank. You’re serious,” he says, “your people skills are just—they’re so rusty, man. You’re so lucky you met me because this kind of Beautiful Mind thing you got going on? I think you would’ve ended up a hermit.”

“You don’t have to be mean,” Cas murmurs, his eyes sweeping away to fix on the wall behind Dean.

Dean throws his head back and groans. “What are you, five? I obviously didn’t mean that!” He groans again. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m stressed.” He shuffles his feet towards Cas and tips at his chin so Cas looked at him. “Look, I am sorry. I got us into this and I’m taking it out on you. Not cool. We’ll say it’s a prank.”

“Meg seems to like me just fine,” Cas throws in a little spitefully, a lot out of character.

“I like you too, dumbass!”

“Then don’t call me dumbass!”

“We’re both dumbasses. That’s what makes us so great together!” Dean kicks lightly at Cas’ shoe with his own. “Hey. Can we just—you know you’re the best thing in my life after Sammy. You know I think you’re—that I’d be...well, lost without you. I think a hell many things about you but this is already getting too chick flick moment-y so let’s...you know...forgive dumbass Dean? For all of this?”

“Okay.” And it is always that easy with Cas.

The corner of his lips pull into the most impish little smile Dean’s ever seen on anyone, a favourite Cas smile of his, and his chest feels lighter by a tenfold for it.

He claps his hands together. “Okay. Now let’s go act like dumbasses that thought this was a good idea for a prank and never speak about it again. I’ll figure out the Lisa thing another way and the Meg thing...we’ll do that together too. Sound good?”

Cas nods at him and gives him a reassuring kick back at his shoe, smiling that fucking smile again. “Yes, Dean.”

His face flushes with a heat he can’t decipher the source of, but he ignores it like he’s starting to ignore a lot of things these days. He pats Cas on the cheek twice and lingers a moment too long.

“Alright,” he coughs, “let’s rock and roll.”

“What are you, fifty?” Cas smirks as they head back towards a far-too-patient Lisa.

Come to think of it, she’s not even frowning anymore. She’s smiling at them carefully, not happy but not necessarily upset either.

“Lis, look, I’m sorry—“ Dean starts before he’s interrupted by her launching herself at him. She’s hugging him.

He looks across to Cas, uncomprehending, and mouths ‘ _what_?’

Cas just shakes his head, equally mystified, and shrugs.

When she releases him, she kisses him on the cheek like it’s a goodbye. “I think a part of me always knew, Dean, and it’s—it’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Um...” Dean is vying for help from Cas again, but he’s now staring anywhere but at them as if he’s intruding on a very bizarre moment.

She laughs tearfully. “I think I just wanted a family. You’re so good with Ben. You’re so good to me, and I—I overlooked a few things I shouldn’t have. You and Cas,” she tugs Cas’ hand into hers. Cas only shares with her a look of terror, which Dean supposes she misinterprets because then she says, “you two shouldn’t have to hide anymore.”

“What?” Dean blurts.

“What?” Cas repeats with the same bafflement.

“I saw how nervous you two were coming in here. I understand it wasn’t...an easy thing to do, telling me, admitting it to yourselves. Can I just ask if...” Lisa finally starts to match the level of discomfort Dean and Cas are both feeling now, “if you two ever...? Behind my back? While Dean and I...”

“No!” They burst out together in tandem.

She heaves a breath that looked heavy inside. “Okay. I...I believe you. Thank you for telling me first.” She grins at Dean. “We had a good run, didn’t we?”

Dean nods stupidly.

“We’ll stay in touch? Maybe you can still hang out with Ben and I some time, bring...Cas?” She smiles now, a lot more warmly at Cas than she ever has.

Dean nods stupidly.

“Okay, you guys, well,” she fans a hand over her face, “thanks for doing this after my last class and not before. I think I’ll go grab a few drinks with the girls tonight, after all. Call in a sitter for Ben.” She squeezes Cas’ hand and then squeezes Dean’s.

“Dean, we’ll talk some more later, okay?”

Dean nods, again, very very mute and very very stupid.

She releases their hands and wipes a stray tear away. “Okay. Phew. That was a surprisingly short conclusion. I really thought I’d be a lot more immature about this when it finally happened. I’m sorry I never talked to you about this, Dean, never supported you, but well—shit, I’m sorry. I’ll see you both around.” She rushes away before Dean or Cas can say anything, before Dean can even tell her not to be sorry, that _he’s_ sorry, before Dean could even realise—

“What the fuck just happened?” Cas yells.

It’s the first time Dean has ever seen so much of himself in his best friend.

“Dean! _Dean_! What the fuck was that, Dean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone to took the time to read this or comment (even just to vent about anything completely unrelated such as the SPN ending 😂)


	3. Sam & Eileen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little less fluff, a teensy more emotional, but I think we needed (well, I needed) it.
> 
> It's still within the same vein of 'yay the world's not ending and everything can be about Destiel' at least! So yay?
> 
> I hope anyone that reads this can enjoy it and thank you for visiting my story! <3

“So...” Dean starts, breaking the seventeen-minute silence between them both in the car. He’s been counting. He taps the steering wheel thrice. “Guess she didn’t have that hard of a time believing we were already…um...you know. That was surprisingly easy.”

“She thought we were in love,” Cas says flatly, “before this idiotic scheme even commenced.”

“Heh. She thought we might’ve already been banging too. Ain’t that something?” Dean’s cheeriness fades along his sentence into the welcoming arms of Uncomfortable. “Isn’t that—um—” _stop talking, Dean,_ “isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” replies Cas, monotone, as he fixedly studies the landscape passing by the car window.

He’s been looking anywhere but at Dean for too long now.

After his outburst, Cas waited for Dean to respond with anything but an open-mouthed stare. He remained there for a few seconds before storming out, only to be found by the Impala in the parking lot, leaning against it, cross-armed. Dean couldn’t think of anything to say and clearly Cas hadn’t either, because they had both gotten in and maintained an oath of silence up until now.

“Come on, lighten up. It’s a _bit_ weird. We established before that it’s only weird if we don’t talk about it, so let’s talk about it.” Dean feels like patting himself on the back for initiating a dreaded conversation, the first time ever in his life. He thinks it’s borne of craving just one side glance from Cas.

“Look, we accomplished what we wanted without any blowback...I mean, _yet_ , anyway. That’s something to celebrate, right, sunshine?”

“Calling me sunshine all the time likely doesn’t discourage the narrative that we’re in love.”

Dean squirms. It’s one of his favourite nicknames for Cas, and it’s starting to sound like the guy is starting to loathe the idea of how close they are…how familiar and chummy they can be to the point that a romance between them isn’t so implausible as they had thought. Dean isn’t ready to investigate deeper into why it stings so much.

“I guess you want to call this off, then,” he mumbles without looking at Cas either. His stranglehold on the wheel clenches.

“I never said that,” Cas says weakly, “I’m only...concerned about how to proceed now. You dated Lisa for a short period, but it was enough for her to deduce, albeit incorrectly, that we are...more than we are. I’m anxious over what our friends will think.”

“Is that really what is bothering you? Because, okay, valid point, and thanks for reminding me of another snowball being thrown at this avalanching disaster, but—”

“What’s bothering _you_ , Dean?” Cas interrupts quietly.

He had to restrain a guffaw.

What’s bothering him is how right it felt when Lisa had clasped their hands and assured them that this was allowed. What’s bothering him is how when Lisa talked about wanting a family, all he could think about was how he already had one and the man was standing next to him.

It’s Cas’ bedraggled hair, his sun-kissed skin, his stubble, his lips. Dean doesn’t want to get started on his best friend’s eyes. All things that Dean, of course, has noticed before and recognised that, yes, Cas is a handsome dude. Dean just never imagined he’d ever give it so much thought this late into the game.

That kiss. The one they shared, somehow, in its delicacy and quiet and chasteness was far more intimate than a drunken mostly-blacked-out smooch for laughs.

Jesus fucking Christ.

What’s bothering him is that he’s starting to think this wouldn’t be half-bad if it were for real.

It’s not just bothering him. It’s paralysing him with horror.

“Nothing’s bothering me, angel.” His first lie to Cas in over a decade.

They pull up onto a dusty driveway littered with motorbikes and hummer trucks. Harvelle’s Roadhouse glitters above an old and dilapidated building, with the R flickering every now and again to give the impression of Toadhouse, something Dean has teased Jo about endlessly and offered to fix for Ellen, also endlessly. Her thanks came in the form of slapping him across the back of the head with a dish towel and telling him she doesn’t need his charity.

Bobby made a flyaway comment about it a few months later and Dean’s now been enlisted, along with Benny and a couple of other guys from the garage, to fix it in a week from now.

“This isn’t home,” Cas declares.

Dean smirks because he only says this after he’s followed Dean out the car.

“No, duh. You’d been watching anything but me the entire ride, thought you’d figure out the direction we were heading in at some point.”

Cas face heats up into a pale pink blush, and while it’s rare to see Cas blush, it’s rarer for Dean to notice that he thinks it’s pretty. He needs beer immediately, followed by shots.

As they head over, he hears Cas sigh. “I was distracted...thinking about something. I didn’t realise we were meeting other people so soon.”

“We ain’t. Need me some drinks after that...whatever that was. We really didn’t think this entire thing through well enough,” Dean chuckles, feeling anything but humorous.

Cas grumbles something unintelligible that makes Dean pause to raise an eyebrow at him.

“I _said_ , we certainly did not work out the logistics of the lie, the timeframe of the pretence, or—”

“Cas, fine, okay, shut up. I said I was sorry for not listening to you earlier, alright? And coming up with this plan. And being...mean. I thought this would be a lot easier and we could just—I don’t know...go with the flow. I’m sorry I threw away your index cards.”

Cas harrumphs, but still follows Dean like a waddling baby duck behind its mother, except he’s a lot more graceful and Dean is a lot more wobbly on his bowlegs. “And you think getting drunk will help.”

“Hey,” Dean swings to open his arms wide and flash a swaggering grin at Cas. “We gotta flesh this out now, right? The best artists come up with their best works under the influence.”

“I don’t think that’s true—”

Dean starts checking off fingers. “Hemingway, Van Gogh, Sartre—”

“Sartre chopped amphetamines,” Cas corrects with a hint of a smile, “but brownie points for knowing who he is.”

“Brownie points for _amphetamines still count as an influence_ , and,” he pauses, embarrassed, “I don’t really know anything much else about the guy.” He shrugs. “Just overhear you sometimes when you talk in your sleep. Cute. Spouting off about french philosophers though? Nerd.”

“Watching me sleep? Pervert,” Cas volleys back good-naturedly.

Dean bumps shoulders with him on purpose at the entranceway of the Roadhouse.

The uncomplicated normality they’ve slipped back into has Dean grinning with delight. Cas purses his lips against his own smile when Dean places a hand at his waist, leading them to a booth. His gut takes a nosedive in a good and exciting way, like when you’re on a rollercoaster and you can’t wait for the next drop.

“I thought we were drinking,” Cas says suspiciously.

“I thought this would be cosier,” Dean replies with ease, beaming at Cas. He reaches for his hands across the booth, not really thinking about it anymore, but Cas jumps away like snakes are winding their way towards him.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

“I’m trying to hold your fucking hands so I can say something nice to you. I just—I forget how happy you make me sometimes, y’know? I think I take it for granted.”

Cas starts scouring the room with a beady squint, for what, Dean’s not sure.

“Who’s here?” he questions in a hushed whisper.

Dean bounds back. “What? Cas, no, I seriously meant—“

“Guys, over here!”

Dean throws his hands in the air with defeat. Three for three in one day. Picture-perfect timing. Today has just been one long terrible 80s movie, and Dean’s sure that if Cas and he were two seconds away from kissing, someone would interrupt that as well.

It’s a brief, bitter thought. He winces at it and banishes the path of that kind of thinking as quickly as he can by following where Cas has scanned his eyes to.

Sam and Eileen are at the bar, throwing peanuts into each other’s mouth’s. Sam is waving a huge paw-like hand at them, eyes peripherally still trained on the peanuts flying at him, his mouth gaping open. They’re roaring with laughter, falling into each other, and Sam almost slips off the bar stool by waving too hard at Dean and Cas.

“They appear intoxicated.”

“They _appear_ like they’ve forgotten we were supposed to be having dinner tonight,” Dean amends with a sliver of irritation.

He strides towards the couple with Cas step-by-step beside him.

“I thought we were having dinner tonight,” Dean adopts his critical tone and stares Sam down with a disapproving look, “and you’re here getting drunk after work with your wife. You’re both very mature, by the way.”

“ _Ooh_ ,” Sam sings, fiddling his fingers in the air at Dean then snorting up a pocket of laughter. He starts doing a really... _really_ bizarre giant voice that booms deep. “Big brother _angry,”_ he intones, “big brother all—all proper and deper-depra-deprecatory like his boyfriend Cast-eel.”

“I am _not_ deprecatory,” Castiel says with chagrin.

“What—” Dean feels genuinely ruffled. “What _is_ that?”

“He’s implying I am censorious and often disapproving of things.”

“No, butthead, what’s with him and that weird voice?”

“It’s my angry voice.” Sam starts dramatically pouting at them both, then blows a raspberry at Dean and then Cas.

Eileen bites her lip, holding her composure for about twenty seconds before collapsing into giggles and her husband.

Dean turns to Cas, once again, in reach of some understanding. Dammit, Cas was always the clever one, the teacher, the homework he copied from, the sun, the stars, and today he is acting just as confounded by everything as Dean.

“Hey jerk, you owe me a drink.” Sam points, blurry-eyed, at the space in front of him. “Cas, Eileen wants a Strawberry Woo-woo.”

“Uh-uh.” Dean stops Cas by the wrist as he reaches for his wallet. “You’ve both already had your first drinks. Clearly. We’re off the hook this time.”

“May I enquire as to why you are both...extremely inebriated, considering you two have work tomorrow and as far as I remember, there are no special occasions or something to mourn?”

“We’ve taken the day off for tomorrow,” Eileen explains rationally with a composure Sam sincerely lacks at the moment, “it’s been awhile since we’ve had a fun night out, so we thought—”

“Dean’s mean,” Sam mumbles, looking anywhere but at them. The mood shifts instantly.

“Excuse me?” Dean demands.

“You played—” Sam hiccups, “—a mean joke again. You two. You two are not nice.”

Dean and Cas flinch towards each other.

“You ruined our wedding,” he bemoans into an empty tumbler, “and now you guys are fucking with Lisa, saying you’re in love and together and—” he waggles a hand dismissively at them, “—and all that shit. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s mean again.”

Eileen sobers up somewhat, straightening and leaning towards Sam, shushing something loving and calming into his ear which makes him sigh loudly. “Fine,” he says, “sorry, everyone. I’m being—” he grins goofily, “Silly ‘cause I’m annoyed I lost my best teacher today. Lisa asked for time off—because—well, you know why.”

“You talked to Lisa?” Dean asks gently, regretting his birth and everything that followed because now he’s starting to realise why Lisa leaving the studio—compounded with how he apparently ruined his brother’s wedding and it’s still an issue for Sam—is worthy of getting drunk over. Hell, he’d brought Cas here to get drunk. He supposes it must run in the family, stemming back to dad’s old whiskey days.

He thinks about how Sam must hate Dean and Cas’ knotty and convoluted entanglement and its consequences. To Dean and Cas, it’s easy, and happy, and pleasant. To everyone else, he’s mildly aware of how annoying and strange it can be. Right now, Sam probably hates it a little more than Dean hates himself, but probably still less than how much dad would hate Dean and Cas if they’d gotten together for real.

A _thwump_ sounds the room as Sam collapses his head onto the bar in front of him, with Eileen rubbing his back. Dean thanks the God he doesn’t believe in for Eileen Leahy-Winchester every damn day.

Smoothing quickly back from her jauntiness to a small forlorn look to Dean, she signs at him that she’s sorry. Another woman to apologise to him today for shitshows that are staged because of him. Fabulous.

He shakes his head at her, signs that _he’s_ sorry, and before he can explain himself, Cas has hauled one of Sam’s arm, the size of a python, over his shoulder. Dean hastily makes himself of similar use.

With Sam bungling out the bar on unsteady feet, at the aid of Dean and Cas, they manage to get him lying back scrunched on the back of Dean’s impala in under ten minutes. There were a few falls. He drools on Eileen’s lap and is already snoring away when Cas slides into shotgun.

Cas offers him a cracked smile which Dean returns with his best efforts.

They sag into their seats as Baby speeds off.

“Can I ask why you guys did that to Lisa?” Eileen asks after one too many fortuitous minutes of quietude. “Are you really breaking up with her, Dean, and it was an easy out that you didn’t think through? Or—or some prank I don’t understand again like at Sam’s bachelor party? I just…want to understand.”

Dean sucks in a pained breath that roughens his aching throat. He wants Cas’ face in his view again, not to plead for help again, but just for a bit of support like it always should have been. He glances sideways, but Cas was already bent over his seat to face Eileen. He’s signing too fast and for too long for Dean, the driver, to catch all of it. Dean’s also not as good at signing as Cas is yet because, well, Cas surpasses him in a lot of erudite ventures.

It must have been good because in the rearview mirror, Dean catches Eileen nodding understandingly, drunkenly, and tearfully. A little like Lisa did, minus the drunken part.

After they settle Sam and Eileen into Dean’s bed with the promise of collecting their Hybrid for them in the morning, Cas hops into the shower while Dean brushes his teeth and strips down into his boxers.

He spits the toothpaste out just as Cas exits and they both meander tiredly towards Cas’ bed to share as they’ve done off and on since they were eleven.

When Dean pulls off the duvet, Cas’ hand tightens on his bare bicep and a shiver runs through his spine. He’s got to remember to change the thermostat tomorrow too when he doesn’t feel mentally and physically shattered.

“Dean, you’re not getting in my bed without a shower.”

“What?” Dean balks. “Come on, man, I’ve taken all my outside clothes off. It’s not like my boxers are dirty! I’m so tired and I feel gross and sad.”

“A warm shower will help with that.” His touch disappears along with him, Dean feels suddenly empty, and then in quick succession a freshly laundered towel is thrown at his face. “Go shower then you can get in bed.”

Dean curses Cas under his breath but moodily totters his way into the shower anyway. It does help. Cas was right. Cas is always right, and fucking great, and warm, and—he shouldn’t be thinking about Cas so much while he’s in the shower.

He quickly washes today’s dirt and grime and sins off, dries off too, then grabs Cas’ favourite bumblebee boxers from his newly folded laundry out of childish spite. He dons it on and tosses his old pair into the laundry basket.

“Don’t you feel better?” Cas hums from the peaceful cocoon he’s made for himself in bed, eyes already fastened shut and smirking like he’s won the Pulitzer prize for an advice column.

Dean rolls his eyes and shuffles under the duvet, hip checks Cas and pulls more blanket towards himself. They engage in a tug of war for a few seconds until Cas, as always, relents with a huff and kicks whichever of Dean’s legs is closer to him.

They fall into a tranquility they’ve not experienced once today.

Dean, of course, ruins it.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Mm,” he mumbles in acknowledgment sleepily.

“What did you say to Eileen?”

Cas exhales. It’s soothing. “I told her she needn’t worry, that we weren’t playing a stupid prank.”

“Oh.”

“I told her we only realised it recently, but we’d pretty much been together since we were kids and that we’d explain more tomorrow when both her and Sam sobered up.”

Dean nods, though Cas can’t see him. Dean gulps, and hopes Cas can’t hear him.

“I told her there’s nobody else I want to share my life with but you,” Cas continues faintly, “I told her that I’m in love with you.”

Dean's heart stutters. He doesn't think he'll be getting any sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was okay! I can't wait to write more (it's like fandom therapy for me) and I really thank everyone for their kudoses and comments and reading :)


	4. Sam

Dean ends up with maybe three to four hours of shut-eye after his senses go on high alert, and he overthinks everything.

Could Cas possibly—could he maybe actually mean it when he said—is it all still a stupid plan gone bad—

Eventually the anxiety melts under Cas’ adorable snuffles and the weighty arm which falls haphazardly across Dean’s waist at some point in the night.

He sleeps.

Then one cruel sunbeam of light streams through a partial gap between Cas’ curtains, striking straight into Dean’s right eye.

He emits a bear-like growl of discontent into warm flesh. He nuzzles his face into Cas’ neck for the shade and ends up sighing contentedly into him. Next second, a hand swats lightly at his head.

“Your scruff is scratching my neck,” Cas grunts grumpily.

“Your sun is scratching my cornea,” moans Dean. “I told you to get black-out curtains.”

“I like being woken up naturally by the sun. When the sun is up—”

“—you want to be up, yeah, yeah, I get it.” He nips at Cas’ neck once to elicit a yelp. He gets another smack, this time on the cheek.

“Shit, Cas, that one almost caught my eye!”

“I told you I don’t like it when you bite me!”

Dean bounces his whole body on the mattress so that it springs Cas up and down along with it.

“Stop that!”

“Now, I’m fully awake, asshole, you gotta entertain me,” Dean says with a shit-eating grin. It vanishes when a pillow smacks into his face, planting him straight onto his back.

“You’re a fucking child. I’m going to smother you one day,” Cas grumbles, turning pointedly away from Dean, pulling all the covers with him.

“You’re a fucking child,” Dean retorts, jumping on top of Cas, leg on either side, as he pretends to smother him with a pillow. Cas flails while Dean snickers his amusement. They end up rolling off onto the floor together with Dean pinned under Cas by his wrists.

“Don’t kiss me this time,” Cas says with a smirk.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Not with that morning breath.”

Cas goes to say something then pauses once his eyes land around the area of Dean’s crotch.

“Are those my lucky boxers? They are! Dean! You know you’re allowed whichever one but that one!” he yells, scandalised. He also loosens one hand from around Dean’s wrist to smack him with a nearby pillow again.

Dean makes a sound that involuntarily came out as a giggle. “You’re more bothered about the boxers than my morning wood poking into yours?”

“Oh, please. I’ve woken up with you poking into my ass enough times to care more about you finishing my oatmeal.” Cas rolls off Dean then jabs a finger at his morning wood teasingly. Dean squeals like a little piglet and scrambles away so his back is to the wall.

“Don’t do that!”

“Don’t wear my lucky boxers!”

“Maybe I was trying to get lucky,” Dean responds with a waggle of his brows.

“Not with that morning breath,” Cas retorts, then kicks him once in the groin. Light enough not to hurt but with enough pressure for Dean to wince. Not from pain. It’s, decidedly, from how his stomach flutters now when Cas comes near his crotch.

It’s also definitely butterflies.

Dean’s smacked straight back into what he’d forgotten for five minutes this morning. Their stupid lie. It’s slowly derailing Dean. He’s got a fair guess as to why he’s secretly looking forward to all they’re going to get to do to pretend that they’re together.

He’s also probably a little bit on the spectrum because after their kiss, Dean’s not been able to stop thinking about how gorgeous Cas is.

“Is there something on my face?” Cas asks cluelessly, dabbing around his mouth and frowning down at his clean hands.

“Um...no—no—uh...no. Sorry. Thought there was something on your lips for a second. Sorry.”

“Likely your drool,” Cas says with a playful head tilt.

“Piss off, go brush your teeth. You stink.”

Cas laughs. Dean scowls. “We have to talk to Sam and Eileen at some point too, you know,” he reminds Cas sullenly.

It stops him short on his way into the en-suite. He looks at Dean and blanches. “I forgot.”

Dean rubs his eyes with the hilt of his palms. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Are we still—”

“Yeah, I—I think so. We’re in a bit too deep now,” Dean laughs humourlessly. “We’ll end it in a couple of weeks. Is that...is that okay with you?”

Cas nods jerkily. Then, below his breath, “this was a bad idea,”

“Tell me about it,” Dean says, “worst idea ever.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something worse one day,” Cas teases, a half-smile on his lips— _stop looking at his lips, Dean._

“Maybe we should practice,” he blurts. Oh, fucking shit.

“Practice?”

“Yeah, like...like kissing. We’ve done it before, not a big deal right? Just like mouth to mouth—um—but just thinking—we should—if we’re gonna—” He supposes Cas was right, he did come up with something worse. Just sooner than he’d thought. “—what I mean is—well—”

“Dean, are you having a stroke?” Cas asks very seriously.

“No, I just—what I’m saying is we should probably learn how to kiss like lovers not like friends playing a joke—y’know?”

Cas stares at Dean with absolutely no movement in his face.

Dean’s about to tell him to forget it, then crawl into hole and hopefully die, but then Cas finally breaks out of his frozen shell and gestures towards the bathroom.

“Let me just...let me brush my teeth first.”

Dean reckons this is what having a heart attack while you win the lottery feels like. He’s buzzing, with fear, with excitement, and the tiniest bit of nausea.

“Shall I—um—me too?” Dean fumbles, realising only after his mouth spewage that he didn’t manage to ask Cas with enough words.

“Yes, assbutt, come brush your smelly teeth so we can...after.”

Dean bounds up like a puppy hearing ‘park’ and ‘walk’, almost runs into Cas in his haste. They exchange brief awkward glimpses while they brush their teeth beside each other, glancing away with mortification each time they catch each other’s eyes. Dean notices with eager pleasure that Cas finishes brushing his teeth in two minutes instead of his typically required routine of four. He’s too giddy to unpack and overthink what that means about Cas’ own keenness.

They face each other with coy looks.

“In here?”

“On the bed?”

Their words overlap and Cas tilts his head in question of Dean. “Isn’t the bed a little too...intimate for practice?”

Dean shrugs, looks at his feet. He only just realised there’s socks on them. Cas must have put them on him at some point in the night again, half-asleep as he normally does when Dean’s cold feet pokes him.

“Dean?”

“I just thought the bed’s comfier. Don’t wanna be making out in the bathroom either, doesn’t that violate some kind of hygienic rule?” he proposes carefully.

“I suppose so,” Cas bites his lip, looking bashful for some goddamn reason. Dean’s going to be kissing those lips soon.

“Alright, lets—lets go then.” He takes Cas by the hand and feels his clamminess with a spark of curiosity. Maybe Cas is looking forward to this too. Maybe Cas feels it a bit too. He’s not examined it properly enough yet but Dean’s pretty sure he would very much soar with happiness if Cas was into him the same way he was into—

He was into Cas.

Properly, head over heels, very into his very straight best friend.

Shit, fuck.

Cas sits on the bed as Dean has seen him do a thousand times and nothing’s ever looked sexier or more inviting to him. He pats the space next to him and Dean has never seen anything cuter. He’s going to need therapy for this.

Dean goes to cradle Cas’ cheek without sitting, startling him, making his cheeks flush, the heat pouring from his skin like lava.

Dean sucks in a deep and fortifying breath, then dives.

Their lips slot together easily, forcefully, with vigour. Something pulls at Dean’s neck and like a shot he descends onto Cas. He crawls on top of him, feeling their bare chests touch and shock them both apart for a second before that same something—Cas’ hand—yanks Dean lightly by his bicep to collide their mouths together once more. His hand stays on Dean’s bicep. He squeezes it when Dean skims his tongue along Cas’ lips, who slips his tongue out to touch and entwine with Dean’s like he’s dying of thirst.

Dean’s hand slips from Cas’ face to drag along his chest.

Cas gasps. Dean moans.

Someone shouts, “oh my fucking god!”

The door slams closed again as Dean and Cas pause to goggle at each other. They also scramble away from one another at record speed, so rapidly that Cas falls off the bed.

“Ow,” he mutters.

“Fuck,” Dean cries, pulling at his hair. He misses Cas below him, pressed against him, lips attached. “Fuck!”

“Fuck, indeed,” says Cas dryly.

“That was definitely Sam yelling oh my fucking god at us, right?”

“That was definitely Sam yelling oh my fucking god at us.”

“Fuck!”

Cas has edged himself back over and onto the bed. Dean shivers when he accidentally peeks at Cas’ bare chest and legs and reddened lips.

“It fits our narrative, I suppose. Sam would likely be more receptive to our deception now.”

“Don’t call it a deception, dude.” Dean nags at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Sounds like we’re doing something fucked up.”

“Aren’t we?”

They finally look at each other in the eyes and Cas’ expression softens when he looks at Dean.

“Do you want to call it off?” he asks gently.

Dean puffs out a spurt of air. “Yeah. Right. He’s just caught us...doing what we were doing not even for show, but in the comfort of your bed. Even if we called it off now, he’s not going to believe that we’re still just friends.”

“Aren’t we?” Cas repeats, a little more hollowly this time.

Dean looks away. “You’ll always be my best friend, Cas,” he mumbles, which isn’t technically a lie.

“Okay. Let’s go deal with this then,” Cas replies more firmly, already pulling on a shirt and joggers. “Get dressed, Dean. I’m sure Sam is already hugging his knees in a corner somewhere, rocking back and forth. We don’t want to traumatise him further.”

He chucks a set of his loungewear at Dean, and Dean, for the life of him, can’t come up with one good reason as to why Cas is being a little cold to him. He sluggishly dresses himself, his high from their intimate moment already shrivelling away.

He reckons they’re not going to talk about it either—about their kiss or how it went a little too far for practice or how Cas seemed to enjoy it when Dean roamed down his body and stuck his tongue down his throat.

Fine.

Dean’s feeling a little bitter now too.

He exits the room without waiting for Cas and does actually find Sam sat on the floor, looking haunted.

“Ever heard of knocking, bitch?”

“Sorry,” Sam mutters, looking right through Dean. “It’s real then.”

“Yup,” he responds, popping the P.

“I called you two mean. I didn’t—I didn’t realise it would ever be a thing. I thought that’s what you two were just like. I—I’m so sorry, Dean. I never even tried to talk to you or—or support you. I mean a couple of years ago I thought maybe—you two look at each other like you’ve both hung the moon. I should’ve gone with my gut and just talked to you about it earlier. I’m sorry.” His head crumples forward onto his knees.

Dean feels stunned. “Are you still drunk?”

“No,” mumbles Sam, “very hungover though. I also feel like shit about how I was last night.”

“Last night was fine,” Dean assures, the heavy pressure of guilt pressing into the pit of his stomach. He sits himself on the floor next to his brother and pats him on the shoulder. He realises that Cas is standing in front of them now and he locks eyes with him when he says, “we all say and do stupid shit, Sam.”

“If it’s any consolation, Sam, Dean only realised it himself not too long ago. There was nothing to support or say before.”

Sam looks up gloomily at Cas. “And you?”

“I think I’ve known since I was about fifteen,” Cas says casually, as if this effortless lie and change in script wouldn’t make Dean do a double take.

“What?” he exclaims at the same time as Sam.

Cas shrugs. “I’ve always been content with just the being, not the having. I never needed Dean to reciprocate, I never expected anything, or needed it. He was always as straight as they come. I just want him to be happy.” Cas smiles at Dean like it wouldn’t make his heart bloom.

Cas is an extremely good liar, it turns out. The look of utter adoration he’s receiving is what Dean knows he’ll drown in for days. Maybe the rest of his life.

“But you’ve always been straight,” Sam croaks, shaking his head like it would loosen the screws inside enough for him to understand.

“I fell in love with Dean before any girl even caught my eye,” Cas spouts off like this is the big confession that he’s finally getting to pour from his chest. “I wasn’t that interested in other men. I tried sex with women and enjoyed it. I suppose I’m just Dean-sexual.” He chuckles. It comes out sad.

“Oh,” Sam says, floored. “Can we—can we continue this very important talk right after—right after I go throw up?” His eyes widen as if he wanted them to imitate dinner plates. “Oh my god, no! Not like that! I’m just—I’m really, really hungover and I need to be sick because of that—not—not because of—”

“Sam, it’s fine,” Cas laughs, “go throw up. Please lift up the toilet seat and then put it back down when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” Sam garbles out before sprinting towards their guest bathroom.

Cas exhales. “I know there’s a lot more to come but I think that went well so far, don’t you?”

Dean’s still staring in wonder and amazement at Cas, touched with a tinge of misery.

“Dean, are you alright?”

“You—” he pauses to try and sound less dejected. “You’re a really good liar, you know. You almost had me believing all that. I never realised you could lie like that, ever. I—I guess good job. Well done.”

Cas stares back at Dean, gaze a little empty.

“Yes,” his voice drops to a despondent whisper, “I suppose I am a very good liar.”


	5. Castiel Novak (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t...I don’t know what happened. This was meant to be light-hearted, fun, and fluff but I turned this chapter into an emotional pinefest. I literally had to add an angst tag just for this chapter. I’m sorry!
> 
> This was ALSO supposed to be a 5 + 1 chapter from Cas’ POV that visits five different timelines of Dean and Cas’ friendship.
> 
> ...but I guess now this is a Part 1 Part 2 scenario because I ended up fleshing it out way more than originally planned
> 
> My bad 😐
> 
> Edit: Warning for a character’s use of homophobic slurs and aggressive language, emotional abuse, and a ton of angst

**eleven.**

Castiel has been quietly observing the boy for some time now.

He first appears in the playground, shouting at some younger boys with another younger boy tucked under his wing like a baby bird. He comes off toughened, aggressive, but also wildly protective.

Another time, he’s chatting animatedly with a classmate of Castiel’s named Benny around the high school bleachers. Castiel was only passing by because he got lost. Rebellious too, then.

He once distractedly shoulders into Castiel in the cafeteria, after stealing a candy bar from the vending machine by punching a random set of numbers and shouldering hard into that too. He mutters a fumbled apology to Castiel without seeing him. Clever, resourceful, and civil despite his troublemaking streak.

The first time they make eye contact is when he hops up onto their field trip bus, dressed in an oversized and tattered AC/DC t-shirt during winter.

Neither fleece nor overcoat present, Castiel notices with discontent and concern.

The boy is late, which is not as surprising as his attendance, considering Castiel has never actually seen him in class.

He takes the seat next to Castiel, the only seat left unoccupied due to a severe lack of friends on Castiel’s behalf and the boy’s tardiness.

They also become the only two left on the bus at the field trip’s third stop because Castiel’s mother refused to sign off permission for this portion of the trip. Waterfalls are dangerous. It doesn’t upset Castiel too much, registers to him as simply one more childhood experience redacted due to her anxieties.

This boy’s parents, Castiel surmises with regret, likely felt the same or had forgotten. Neither options were nice to think about.

What he thinks about instead is that he would like to tally up the boy’s freckles, connect the dots to create a facial constellation. He immediately frowns at this thought, adds it to the list of Things You Can Think But Never Say Aloud — an exercise Gabriel has taught him about many years ago.

Apoidea, fine, boys can like bumblebees and honeybees because at least they fall under insects. Insects are cool. Astronomy, also fine, _you’ve always been the smartest one of us all, Cassie._ Religious studies, _duh, obviously, look at what our batshit mother named us all_. He’s fine there too.

Tracing a classmate’s freckles probably comes under the same vein as asking his mother if lipstick was really necessary because _they’re hurting monkeys for it, mother._

On authority of Gabe, that’s something you think, not something to be spoken.

Castiel has always been conscious of his odd thoughts and tendencies, with a marked improvement in mediating them recently.

This is why it’s particularly upsetting that his mouth doesn’t cooperate with his brain when he babbles out to the boy, “I like your freckles.”

At least no one else is there to witness the humiliation. Their adult chaperone has irresponsibly but fortunately departed for a smoke.

“Um,” the boy mumbles after jolting at Castiel’s strange compliment. “Thanks. I guess. I like your...eyes. No homo, they just look cool. You’re like a human husky.”

Castiel feels something tug at his lips, a movement he’s not entirely used to, and then he finds himself throwing his head back with unadulterated laughter.

“What?” the boy bites back defensively, “stop laughing at me!”

“I’m not—I’m not, I’m sorry, I just—that is a _think in your head and don’t say out loud_ thought. It sounds more like something I would say. Human husky. I like that.”

The boy combs a hand through his dark hazel-blonde hair. “Well, you should always say what’s in your head.”

“Then I’d like to tell you that you look like a vibrating icicle. Aren’t you freezing?”

He crosses his arms and juts his chin out pugnaciously. “So what if I am?”

“Here. Take one of my fleeces. I brought three.”

“Why would anyone need three fleeces?”

“Why would anyone walk outside without one?”

“You first.”

“In case one gets dirty or another gets wet. I didn’t realise until Mr. Henriksen told me this morning that I wasn’t going to be allowed on the waterfalls.”

“Didn’t realize it’d be so cold. I’m eleven, dude. I don’t really know how to take care of myself. My baby bro, I’m awesome in that department. Myself, not so much.”

“What about your parents?”

“You shouldn’t ask people personal questions like that, man. It’s a great way to get punched.”

“You said I should always say what’s in my head,” retorts Castiel with excessive smugness.

“Damn, you’re good.” The boy chuckles throatily, an older chuckle that belongs to someone much older than eleven. “Doesn’t mean I have to answer.”

“Okay. You don’t ever have to do or say anything you don’t want to. At least not with me, anyway.” Castiel shrugs.

The boy responds with an astonished but appreciative grin that incrementally thaws into a more solemn smile.

“My dad ain’t around much and my mum’s...not around at all. I pretty much just live in a motel room by myself, me and my little brother. Why’d you think I don’t even have a permission slip?” he says bitterly, picking at the loose threads on the hem of his overlong shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel consoles gently, forehead crinkling. “That’s horrible.” He wordlessly extends an apple from his backpack towards the boy. “If no one is taking care of you, then you should take care of yourself. Steal some fruit once in awhile. Candy bars are bad for you.”

“You’re not against me stealing, but you draw the line at unhealthy eating habits.” The boy snorts and smacks the proffered apple away.

“My principles are my principles.”

“I think if you weren’t so weird, I’d hit you right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, slinking towards the window. “You don’t need to sit next to me to be polite. There’s plenty of seats available for the next half an hour on this bus. You can go sit somewhere else before everyone gets back.”

“Why the hell would I want to do that?”

Castiel cocks his head in puzzlement. “You said I’m weird.”

“I like weird. Everyone else is boring.”

Castiel nods complacently, placing his rejected apple into a ziplock bag. “Have you just moved here? I’ve never seen you in class.”

“I’ve been bunking off. They caught on. That’s why I’m on this stupid trip,” he glances at Castiel shiftily, “to make friends. Got about 1.5 at the moment—someone I bunk off school with and my pint-sized little brother.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, reaches into the rucksack tucked between his legs and flourishes out what looks like a full-sized pie.

“Want a some? I’ve got a knife and fork and everything.”

Castiel gawks at him. “You just—you just stuck a pie in your bag? _They let you bring a knife on the field trip_? This is a terrible school.”

“You want any or not?”

“It’s not even boxed!” Castiel cries in anguish. “That is outrageously unhygienic!”

The boy swats a hand at him, goes “whatever,” and then digs a fistful with the same hand, forgoing cutlery entirely.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

The boy laughs at him with a mouth full of what looks like cherry pie, crumbs and morsels of jam spewing everywhere. “You’re so fun to fuck with.”

“Don’t be so crude,” Castiel admonishes, starting to regret his impalpable interest in this green-eyed mud monkey.

“You said I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. I don’t want to be not crude, whatever that means. Come on,” he urges, “have a slice. I’ll even give you my clean fork.”

“I doubt anything you own is clean.”

“Ouch.” He wipes sloppily at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I dare you. I’ll swap you a fistful of pie for your fleece. You wanted to give it to me so bad earlier, you freak of nature with your bleeding heart.”

“You are unbelievably ill-mannered,” huffs Castiel.

“Suit yourself.”

Involuntarily, Castiel’s eyes glue onto the boy and his pie. He’s still trembling ever so slightly even as he demolishes the monstrosity before him and his arm is prickled with goose-flesh.

Castiel sighs dramatically. “I suppose I’ll take some pie so you can stop being so stubborn and not die of hypothermia. Why is this even necessary of me? How did the teachers not intervene?” he grumbles the complaints mostly to himself with indignation.

The boy beams cheekily at Castiel and they swap their goods.

“Y’know, you’re real easy to talk to, blue eyes. Maybe ‘cause I’m still not one hundred percent on whether you’re actually a person,” he jokes with a smirk. Castiel scowls back at him, but it’s only half-hearted because there’s no cruelty behind his twinkling eyes. He’s looking at Castiel like Castiel is a sky full of stars, with wonder and curiosity and admiration. No one’s really ever looked at him like that before.

“I’m Dean.”

“Castiel.”

“Okay,” he says around a mouthful of pie. “I’m’a call you Cas though.”

Cas blushes. “Okay, Dean.”

**fifteen.**

Dean’s legs are tossed over Cas’ lap while they binge a Dr. Sexy marathon.

They’ve been sitting like that for a couple of hours and would have likely continued doing so had John Winchester not flown through the motel room, stumbling and shouting at a group of his drinking friends with half his body hanging out the doorway. He shouts a few strings of obscenities before kicking the door shut and snapping his attention to the two boys perched closely together on a loveseat.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, immediately swinging every appendage as far away from Cas as humanly possible.

“And what are you two faggots up to tonight?”

Cas’ entire body flinches into himself. Dean stares John down with ire.

“This is mine and Sammy’s room. Yours is down the hall.” He starts lacing his shoes on. “Nice to see you too, old man. What’s it been this time, three weeks?”

John plops himself on the bed beside them next to a soundly asleep Sam, and Cas is so attuned to Dean that he knows his jaw is clenched right now with barely contained rage.

“Oh, you’re watching something,” he slurs as he pats Sam’s head down. “What is this girly shit?”

“Dr. Sexy,” Dean grinds out.

John chortles. “Very on brand for you two.”

“Stop petting Sam like he’s some kind of zoo animal. You’re going to wake him up.”

“What? I can’t miss my son?” John, however, relents in search of the bathroom. “I need to piss. Turn this gay shit off before I’m back.”

As soon as the bathroom door clicks shut, Dean is up and scouring through the chest of drawers, haphazardly hurling random articles of clothing into an old rucksack.

“You know the drill, Cas,” Dean rambles, “grab Sam, wait by reception, I’ll swing by with the car.”

“Dean—”

“Cas, goddammit, can you please—”

“Dean!” he whispers harshly at Dean’s side, gripping his best friend by the shoulders. One hand inches up his neck and moves to capture his jaw. It calms his breathing in twelve seconds.

“My mother is home tonight, Dean. She won’t—she won’t be okay with it, you remember what she’s like. I had to tell her I was visiting Gabe at college this weekend. Is there anywhere else we can go? Bobby’s?”

“No, no, he’ll yell at my dad for it—it’ll just make it worse for later.”

The faucet turns off. Cas rushes to huddle Sam onto his shoulders, with Sam only blearily nodding along to their routine.

“Get the car. We’ll find an ATM, I’ll get some money out from my emergency fund. We’re going to find another motel for the night,” Cas resolves with determination.

They’re clutched together so tightly in distress with Sam wedged between them that they don’t notice the creak of the door.

John is leaned against a wall, warily taking in the scene. His cocksure energy seems to have diminished when he nods glumly at Dean.

“Go on. I’m not stopping you.” John looks so deflated it makes Cas feel a little sympathy for the man. Cas imagines he would derail off the course of healthy habits and normalcy too if the most important person to him in the world perished in a fire. He imagines his fall from grace to be legendary, were he unable to save his most important person. He looks to Dean, heart racing.

“I said fucking get out then!” erupts John, jarring a half-woken Sam fully conscious. Cas clutches him tighter to his chest while he buries his head in the crook of Cas’ shoulder.

Dean paces slowly, menacingly, and very meaningfully towards his father who right now still towers over him.

“Dean,” Cas warns, wholly aware of his grip on Sam yet wholly terrified of what could happen to his most important person. “Dean, stop!” he screams.

The key they couldn’t find is dangling from John’s hands, extended towards Dean who snatches at it viciously.

“Keep the car,” John says coolly. “Just don’t let me see you and your boyfriend near my sight again. I’ll wring both your necks, starting with his so you can watch.”

John might have had more vitriol to expel. Cas supposes he’ll never know because Dean’s fist knocks powerfully into his father’s jaw, upending the man who then stumbles his way backwards. Off balance, he trips over his feet and ends up sprawled over the motel carpet.

“Leave Sam with me. Leave my son, goddammit!” John half-pleads, in a voice both terrorising and distraught.

Sam shakes his head while Dean sneers downwards.

“Cas, go wait outside with Sam.”

“Not without you.”

“ _Castiel_!” Dean snarls.

“ _Dean_.” Cas’ plea comes out needier, his desperation louder than anything Dean can bark at him.

Dean without hesitation drops his internal war and angles his head towards Cas. His reddened eyes, creased with anger and hate, now softens. His lips tremble. He bows his head.

“Let’s go, Dean,” Cas quietly implores.

“Okay, Cas.”

John’s sniggers resounds off their backs as they hurry outside into the bitter cold. Sam is set down, eleven and already too gangly and heavy for Cas to carry all the way to the car.

“I can afford a motel room somewhere outside town for a couple of days,” Cas ventures once they’re settled inside the Impala with the heat running. “We’re lucky the gas tank is full though. Is your hand okay? It looks sore—”

“Cas, stop! Just _stop_! I’m— _we’re_ not your charity case, alright? Stop being so fucking nice and calm and logical and—can you just be human for a fucking sec? Can you try to at least pretend like you’re real—and not this—this caricature of some fucking guardian angel? Your whole flawless schtick is really getting old, man.”

Cas purses his lips together, hurt. “I _am_ real.”

They sit in a tense silence. Sam stares blankly out the frosted window from the backseat, resolutely ignoring them.

Dean plunks his head against the wheel. “Shit, I know, Cas. My idea of a human is just fucked up and selfish, grim and shit, and…you’re—you’re none of those things. I’m sorry. I’m a fucking asshole, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You shouldn’t swear in front of Sam.”

All three boys burst into a round of raucous laughter. It’s grim and shit, but it’s easy, and it’s them.

“I’m surprised dad’s not come out, banging on the window yet,” Sam titters darkly.

“Sammy, dad’s probably passed out in his own piss right now.”

“Dean? Where are we going to go? I don’t want to go back there if he’s just going to come back like that again in a couple of weeks.”

Cas’ heart clenches.

“No, man. We’re never going back there. I’ll work extra hours at the garage. Hell, we’ll live out the car if we have to for a bit—but Sammy, I promise you, we’re going to be okay. You’re going to have the best damn life, Cas here’s gonna help you with your homework while I sort out a permanent place for us to live until you go off to college. I’ll—I’ll figure it out. I’m going to do everything to give you that. Alright, kid?”

Sam worries his lip with uncertainty, but because he’s eleven and his big brother is always right, he eventually relents with a careful and quiet, “alright.”

“If you aren’t returning to that place again, perhaps you can go to Bobby’s after all. I’m sure he’ll take you in and protect you from your father,” Cas proposes, tentative. “It’s got to be better than living out of this car.”

“Yeah.” Dean rubs his temple. “Yeah, maybe. Just—just not tonight. I can’t deal with that tonight.”

“I understand.”

“Do you want me to drop you home or at Gabe’s?” Dean asks glumly, reversing effortlessly out the parking lot with one hand on the wheel.

“Neither. If you aren’t staying at Bobby’s tonight, we’re finding another motel as I previously suggested.”

“Cas—”

“Dean,” he intones. “Please let me do this one thing for you tonight. I can’t be happy if you aren’t happy, and I know you won’t be happy letting Sam sleep in the backseat of a car when there’s a better option.”

Dean licks his lips thoughtfully, giving Cas the longest look of adulation he can spare during a drive in the dark with no license and no direction.

“Are you guys boyfriends?” questions a yawning Sam.

The car almost swerves off the road and they all scream like small children until Dean manages to steady the wheel.

“What the fuck, Sam? Of course not!” Dean shouts. “You actually listening to dad and his homophobic bullshit?”

“No!” Sam squeaks, “I just—you look at Cas like...like...I just thought—I dunno, people at school call you destiel—”

“Okay. Alright. You know what? You're gonna do that thing where you just shut the hell up. Forever,” Dean orders aggressively.

“Casdean?”

“Shut your face! Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get to the motel.”

Sam grumbles something indecipherable and moody under his breath. It doesn’t take long for him to curl up on himself, eyes fluttered shut.

Cas chuckles to himself.

“Oh, you find this funny?”

“Mildly, yes.”

Cas has to hold a hand up to his mouth to stifle a laugh when they confront a bored girl at the check-in desk whose first words to them are, “two queens?” and Dean splutters.

“No! Two rooms! Singles! Oh, and a cot in one for my baby brother.”

“Sorry. Only got two queens, no cot. Friday night...this place kind of turns into—um—”

“A den of iniquity?” Cas supplies.

“Whatever that means,” she scoffs, “but yeah. Two queens, take it or leave it.”

“Fantastic,” Dean cries sarcastically, which the girl mistakenly takes as affirmation. She slides over a keycard while Cas pays, and not too long after they’re lugging one rucksack and a somnolent Sam onto the nearest bed. He instantly splays face-down across the entire mattress like a starfish and shrieks his protest when Dean toes at him to move over.

“Guess we’re sharing, honey,” Dean mutters groggily to Cas, discarding his shirt and trousers.

Cas’ saliva sticks in his throat. “What—what are you doing?”

“Getting ready to fuck you.” Cas’ gut drops and his heart flounders. Then, Dean rolls his eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing, man? I’m going to sleep. It’s been a hell of a long night,” he grouses, slipping beneath the sheets. He shuffles over to make room for another body. “You getting in or what?”

“Um...no...no, thank you.”

“What? You scared of sharing a bed with another guy? A minute ago you were fucking about with the idea of us being boyfriends,” Dean snickers.

“And a minute ago, you were balking at the idea. Now—now you’re half-naked in a bed and asking me to join you!”

Dean flops upwards in bed, exasperation lining his flat expression. Cas’ eyes drop towards his chest and he flushes hot in his cheeks. Also somewhere below his gut.

“Cas, buddy, I’m sorry to inform you of this but you’re really not my type and I’m pretty sure I’m not yours either. We’re allowed to share a goddamn bed. It’s only weird if you make it weird. Now will you get the fuck in?”

Terror beating at his chest, Cas nods jerkily and goes to remove his confining jeans. He stops at the hem of his shirt and stammers, “I—I’m keeping my shirt on.”

“How disappointing,” Dean says into his pillow, face already plastered back onto it.

Cas hesitates for another moment. He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts and feelings. He’s failing miserably in that task. Dean’s upper body is rising and falling at a much slower rate than Cas’ pulse is. He finds himself trying to slow it to the beat of his best friend’s inhales and exhales.

He thinks about the many thoughts he’s suppressed, the many Do Not Say Out Louds, and how he’s been lying to Dean for about as long as Dean has steadfastly told him nothing but truths.

He thinks about how he’s now watching the shape of Dean and wants Dean in any way he can have him—but he doesn’t need it. He wants Dean, but he doesn’t need the entirety of Dean, only the scraps willing to be shared, because this friendship is more than enough.

When he eases with difficulty into bed, he exhales his distress and smiles.

When he looks at Dean’s slumbering face, all worry lines smoothened, lips parted, expression peaceful, Cas knows for certain now what he’s been feeling for the past four years. It’s something that will live inside him for the rest of his life.

He knows Dean will never reciprocate. He knows this is all he will get and he is thankful for even this crumb of intimacy. Really, it’s not a crumb at all.

There’s happiness in just the knowing.

It’s a galaxy of rapture just to love Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah...three more time stamps to go and a look at things ‘present day’ from Cas’ perspective in the next chapter.
> 
> Again, I apologize


	6. Castiel Novak (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay um...I did it again. There’s going to be a Part 3 to Cas’ POV. I’ve not even hit 5+1 yet.
> 
> This is likely going to turn out into more than 8 chapters too...
> 
> Warning: Brief description of Cas/other sexual encounter (literally in like the first line?)
> 
> Brownie points to those that clock onto canon references I’ve casually co-opted

**seventeen**

Cas’ final push into April is accompanied by a cry of ecstasy and relief.

After they finish, spent and still heaving for breath, she coils around him like a tightening cord. Cas brushes a strand of hair away from her face like men often do during tender moments in romantic TV.

He gauges this mostly from soaps and telenovelas that he and Dean watch together in Bobby’s basement, once everyone is sound asleep and could never stumble upon them gorging on their collective guilty pleasure. He still doesn’t really understand why he should feel guilty about enjoying what he enjoys. All Cas knows is his friendship with Dean may be at risk were he to refuse shards of what Dean labels masculinity.

Hence, April.

Surprisingly, highly enjoyable.

He could get used to this. He could definitely love his straight best friend and enjoy women for their company simultaneously. It’s a mental relief so grand it outweighs even the immense physical relief he’s just experienced.

“Not bad for a virgin,” April smirks up at him. Cas rolls his eyes at her fondly, then nuzzles the tip of his nose to hers which elicits a giggle.

They tend to a couple more rounds that morning before even his seventeen-year-old body cannot keep up, then she’s hopping up and down into her skinny jeans. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail, whipping up a coquettish peek at him.

“Are we still on for movies at my place this Friday?”

Cas hesitates for a moment before schooling his countenance into one of enthusiasm. “Of course.”

She bends over, kneels enticingly on the bed, and kisses him briefly before pulling back. Cas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while she’s turned towards the door. She throws him one last look of lasciviousness prior to bouncing away on her kitten heels.

He gets perhaps three minutes of restful tranquility before his window flies open to disturb the peace.

This, along with a figure that tumbles through like a toddler in gymnastics training.

“Goddammit, Dean!” he shouts, bounding up from his bed. “How many times have I told you to use the front door? My mother isn’t even home!”

“Habit,” mutters the pile of flannel and dirty jeans that’s rolling about more clumsily than a baby armadillo. Once Dean finds his footing, he stands imperiously over Cas only to give him a dirty look. “Was that April I just saw skipping out your door with her shirt inside out? Also, why are you not wearing a shirt?”

“You’re so astute,” Cas comments dryly, picking up his crumpled top from the floor and slipping it on. Dean’s eyes were trained too tightly on his bare chest for him to feel comfortable.

“Are you naked under there?” Dean continues in his hysterical voice, rushing to move the blanket from Cas’ lap.

Cas promptly smacks his hand away.

“You are!” Dean exclaims, looking infuriated. “You smell like spunk and compromise. You had sex with her, didn’t you?”

“Christ almighty, why is this any of your business? Why are you even here? We were meeting at Bobby’s tonight.”

“You had sex without me!” Dean shouts, outraged.

They startle together, simultaneously alarmed.

“ _What_?” Cas demands.

“Um…” Dean gulps. “I didn’t mean…obviously not...that. I meant—I meant you didn’t tell me—”

“Why on earth would I _tell_ you?” Cas starts shouting at Dean’s pitch. “Were you waiting on an invitation to join?”

“No!”

“Can you…can you pass me my boxers please? They’re at the foot of the bed,” Cas says, rubbing a hand down his face.

Dean harrumphs, balls up the the pair of dirty boxers and throws it squarely at Cas’ head. He pulls them on under the sheet aggressively, holding his glaring contest with Dean the entire time.

“Why are you acting so weird about this?” Cas asks suspiciously. It’s really despite his best interests. It has never boded well for him to linger on Dean’s peculiar behaviours that, to other people, might look something akin to jealousy and possessiveness.

“I just—I—” Dean squirms, itching the back of his neck. “I don’t know! Maybe it’s because she stabbed you that one time? Why would you want to have sex—excuse me, lose your virginity to that? Why not—why not someone else?”

“ _Stabbed_ me?” Cas flips the sheets off himself so he can stand and approach his friend. “Dean, she accidentally poked my chest with a kitchen knife one time. We were making chicken alfredo.”

“You don’t need a knife for pasta.”

“You do if you’re cutting onions.”

“Who the fuck puts onions in their pasta?”

“Me! I’ve made you my chicken alfredo many times! You said you loved the additions of onions, mushrooms, and—”

“Then you went and made it with _her_ ,” Dean mumbles, scattering his eyes around the room to avoid Cas’ piercing gaze.

Dammit, Dean.

“Are you jealous?” Cas pokes at the issue outrightly. Do Not Speak Aloud, he knows it’s one of those thoughts, and yet Dean is throwing a brimming basket of hope in his face.

“Maybe.”

Cas’ pulse elevates. He breathes deep to prevent an oncoming adrenaline attack, because no, it can’t be, his wildest dreams, the wants he’s tempered down all this time—

“Since you’ve starting dating her, she’s been hogging up all your time.”

Cas’ dream fizzles with a painful spark. “Ah.”

“I mean, I get it, she’s your first girlfriend and everything but we’ve been hanging out less and less and—Benny misses you, Sammy misses you, I—I miss you.”

Cas can tell this confession is difficult for Dean and he resents himself for how he feels only bitterness instead of appreciation in this moment.

“Well, you’re going to have to get used to it,” says Cas, as casually as he can muster. “I’m watching movies at her place on Friday too.”

“Friday?” Dean echoes. “Friday’s our movie night.”

Cas shrugs. “Well…”

“You know, maybe I should get to know her better. Yeah,” Dean plows on, squinting back at Cas just as mightily as Cas is at him. “Yeah, since you like her so much. Call it a group date.”

“Dean…”

He’s already out the bedroom door April was leaving through not too long ago. “I’d message her now if I were you. Give her a heads up.”

Cas sighs, relenting. Always relenting in the face of Dean. “You’re supremely difficult.”

“That’s why you love me!” comes Dean’s voice, detached from his body which has already turned the corner away from Cas’ sight.

Cas’ shoulders slump.

Throughout the next couple of days, Cas wishes quietly to himself that Dean wouldn’t turn up at his place Friday night, brooding and adamant. He obviously does anyway.

“Right, shall we head over?” are the first words Dean has spoken to him since their fight.

Cas grumbles his assent, sits in shotgun as grumpy as can be, determined not to be the first to breach the rigid silence between them.

“You are _always_ filled with terrible ideas and I am _always_ filled with so much foolish loyalty to you that I just go along with everything,” Cas rants five minutes into the drive. “Dean, I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call. How do you get me to say yes to every stupid plan? Tell me, I am genuinely curious.”

Dean sulks, eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. His jaw twitches. “We can—we can turn around. I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Dean Winchester can talk me into everything, but can’t string together one damn sentence when he’s confronted with feelings,” Cas interrupts, feeling entirely nasty the second he ends his words.

Dean’s knuckles whiten noticeably on the steering wheel. “I was trying to apologise. You’re acting really childish, y’know that?”

“Oh, good. Now you know what it’s like to talk to you.”

“For fuck’s sake! Well, we’re here now! What do you want to do, sunshine?”

Cas whirls his head at Dean as the car rolls to a halt in front of April’s house. “And why have you started calling me that? People are going to get the wrong idea and it—” _hurts_ “—will be getting very tiresome.”

“What?” Dean barks. “Why do you care what people think?”

“Why do _you_? I’m not the one huddling under blankets at 1AM with my best friend, swearing him to secrecy over watching another telenovela rerun or—or how you wore Rhonda Hurley’s panties that one—”

“Hey!” Dean shrieks, flapping his hands at Cas berserkly. “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again!”

Cas points at Dean maniacally, totally unhinged and out of character with himself. “See! You care what people think too!”

“Not when it comes to _us_ ,” Dean snarls viciously. “Not anymore, alright? I don’t care what people think about us. They can call us boyfriends, they can tease us, they can mock us, I don’t care! I don’t need to be told I can’t spend all my time with you or hug you or kiss your cheek because it’s not what boys do. I’ll do everything else the normal way boys do, but not that! It’s one of the _very_ few things that’s consistent and good in my life, but if you want to take that away from me because of what people are saying, then—then _fine_!”

Cas recoils away from him with a shock. The last time Dean has ever raised such a venomous tone to him was way back when they were fifteen and escaping John Winchester.

Cas closes his eyes against the memories of that night, the night that changed everything for Dean and Sam but also himself. The night he realized he’d do anything for Dean and there truly exists no lines he will not cross.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice has shrunken to timid and afraid. “Cas, I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell...I don’t know why I get so angry.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” he replies earnestly. “We’re always yelling at each other.”

“Not like that.”

“I know.”

“I should...go. This was a stupid idea.”

Cas snorts. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something worse someday. I’ll probably go along with that too.”

Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners with mirth. It sends Cas’ relief to wondrous heights to see the glitter of joy that still thrives between them no matter how bad things get. He often feels like he’s walking on a tightrope where he may teeter off at any moment, sending their friendship into an abyss the moment one verbalized thought reveals where his heart lies.

“Does this mean I can still join you?” Dean asks eagerly.

“I still don’t understand why you’d want to, but I think we’ve established that I have a very hard time saying no to you.”

“Awesome!” Dean claps his hands together. “Before we go, you should...um—” his gaze trickles down from Cas’ face to his chest, “—unbutton it. Why don’t you unbutton it?”

“My shirt?” Cas questions dubiously.

“Just at the top. You look like a tax accountant, man.”

Cas starts unbuttoning his way down until a sharp intake of breath from Dean stops him.

“Th-that’s far enough. Um...” Dean laughs a little nervously, licks his lips, and directs his attention away from Cas to opening his car door which he struggles with for a moment. Cas boggles at the scene.

“You coming or not?” Dean asks once he’s eventually standing from outside the car, failing to hide his flushed complexion by looking skyward.

Flustered, Cas wrestles with the door for a few seconds himself.

At April’s doorstep, after ringing the bell, they both face each other with regret and mortification.

It’s too late to turn back once April flourishes the door open. “Hello boys. Come in, come in!”

She is far too chipper for a girl whose boyfriend has brought a plus one to their date. He had asked her ahead of time, of course, and was indeed surprised to find no pushback on the proposition. With growing apprehension, he and Dean follow her past the living room up the stairs.

Dean leans in to whisper in Cas’ ear, “she got a home cinema up there or something?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” Cas murmurs back in an undertone. He rushes up a couple of steps to catch April by the elbow. “April, I thought we were going to watch a movie.”

“Cas, we’re not here to watch a movie,” she sniggers then takes his hand into hers, practically dragging him towards her bedroom.

“But...I brought popcorn,” Dean says, hurrying up the steps in pursuit of Cas.

As soon as they’re in her bedroom, she starts clawing at Cas’ neck, bringing him down in a smothering kiss that he acquiesces to mostly out of confusion.

“Whoa!” he hears Dean exclaim from outside the doorway.

Cas is kicked into gear by the sound of Dean’s voice and he attempts—also fails—at pulling away. April responds by sucking his bottom lip into her mouth.

“What the hell,” comes Dean’s strained voice.

At this, April yields. “Oh. Sorry. Did you two want to get started with each other first?”

She’s still clasping onto Cas’ neck, but she’s moved far enough away that Cas can share a look of horror with Dean.

“What—what the fuck are you on about?” trembles Dean.

Cas starts unwinding her arms from around him and steps closer to his friend who immediately grasps onto his hand. Dean uses this grip as leverage to yank Cas behind him as if he’s acting as a shield between Cas and a ravenous lion.

“You, me, and Cas,” she says slowly. “Sex? I thought that’s what we were all doing here.”

Cas gapes at her.

“Are you insane?” Dean bares his teeth at her as if he’s turned into an animal himself. “We’re not here to tag-team you! We’re not—we aren’t like that.”

April sweeps her eyes between them with a gleam of amusement. “You expect me to believe you two aren’t fucking?”

Cas is shaking. Dean is shaking.

“Cas, honestly, you’re a smart guy. Why would any girl volunteer to put up with you and your...let’s say quirks, if this wasn’t the endgame?” she asks with growing exasperation.

Dean’s fingers tighten around his. “You can keep the popcorn and the rest of my snacks, bitch.” He throws the plastic bag full of goods in his other hand at April. “Cas, we’re leaving.”

Cas nods mutely and turns to follow Dean.

“Your girlfriend—I’m sorry, _ex-_ girlfriend is a fucking _psycho_!” Dean shouts over his shoulder, ensuring April hears him.

She shouts after him like some wanton journalist, hungry for gossip. “You’re not even going to deny it, Dean?”

“Dean,” Cas pleads as they round down the stairs.

“Ignore her, Cas. Don’t give her the satisfaction. I don’t give a shit what she thinks.”

April catches up to them in the living room and calls Cas’ name. He pauses momentarily to seize her eyes with his despite Dean’s physical barrier between them. He feels like he’s about to burst into tears, because he _did_ care about April and he _did_ think that they were at least friends. He never realised she was just putting up with him.

Her bottom lip is tremors, and he feels a tug towards her when her eyes start watering. “Cas, I—”

“No!” Dean roars. “Don’t you fucking come near him again.”

“Dean, please,” Cas croaks.

“You!” Dean points at April, his finger quivering in the air. “You and Cas? Over! _So_ over.”

“Dean, please do not speak for me,” Cas interjects quietly. He takes a deep breath, controlling his emotions. He’s good at this. He’s practiced it enough to be an expert.

“Dean doesn’t speak for me, but yes, April. You and I—so over.“

“We’re leaving!” Dean growls before slamming her front door shut behind them and kicking the door once for good measure, enraged.

“ _Fuck_!” he also exclaims.

He marches towards his car with Cas’ hand still gripped tight in his. His nostrils are still flaring and his breathing is still heavy when he starts the ignition. Cas misses Dean’s hand in his when they let go. Dean uses that same hand to smack furiously at the wheel.

“What a bitch! I hate her! I _hate_ her!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be driving while you’re so angry,” Cas mentions blankly.

“Why aren’t you angrier?” Dean challenges, jaw clenching.

“I’m sorry she thought we were—”

“Cas, don’t. No. I hate her because of what she said about _you_. She got to be with you and she—she—you deserve better than that. No one fucking deserves you.”

Cas stares out the window, thinking of one person he wishes he deserved. Clearly, the universe disagreed otherwise he would be in a different body or Dean would be open to the idea of men. He rebukes himself for the thought immediately because what he has with Dean is already more than friendship. It’s profound. Cas is lucky that Dean offers him so much of himself to Cas as it is.

“I hate that you lost your virginity to her. I hate it,” Dean rampages on, oblivious to Cas’ growing disinterest in the matter of April. “It should have been with someone else, Cas. Someone that knows how great you are the way I do.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas laments, “I’m so sorry you didn’t get to take my virginity,” he lilts, the joke rolling off his tongue with ease and spearing his brain with a stress headache that he hides with a teasing grin.

It’s only slightly forced.

The more he leans into their friendly flirtations, the easier it becomes to just be in this friendship. It eases his desires by wearing him thinner each day. He embraces the inconceivability of it. He embraces the contentment it brings him when their fruitless flirtations snuff out the flames of a hopeless want.

Dean scoffs. “If I could have just done it to make sure she didn’t get to, believe me, I would’ve taken one for the team.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

“I hate her.”

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record. Honestly, Dean, it’s—whatever. We dated for a few weeks. It hurts, sure, but it’s not like I’m going to cry about it.”

“Good,” Dean says, bringing the car to a halt at Bobby’s house. Cas supposes he’s staying the night at Dean’s tonight.

Dean pauses to take a breath. “For what it’s worth, your quirks? It’s what makes you so special to me. Every inch of who you are is what—what makes you so special to me—and...um...” he chuckles uncomfortably, then seems to change his mind over what he was about to say next, “at least I get you back for movie nights, right?”

“Mm,” Cas agrees. “You don’t need to console me, Dean. Like I said, she’s not someone I’d cry over.”

“If you’re ever gonna cry over anyone, it better be me,” jokes Dean with a half-grin.

Cas responds with a very forced smile.

**twenty-three**

The first girlfriend Dean introduces Cas to is named Cassie.

Cas would have much preferred a physical punch to his gut.

He can’t even resent her. She is kind, intelligent, beautiful, and more understanding of their intimate friendship than any girl Dean has casually dated in the past.

Cas manages. If anything, it helps him.

He becomes used to his position in Dean’s life where his feelings have to remain a quiet kind of love. His romantic interest in Dean begins to fall to rest, dormant beneath his commitment and holistic dedication to Dean and his happiness—which now includes Cassie.

When Dean touches him, embraces him, cuddles into him, places a kiss by his temple or one on his jaw, he no longer quivers with want and desire. It’s with a bored roll of the eyes and a flirtatiousjab back because, first and foremost, this is his best friend.

It’s by chance of their cheap and hollow walls that allows Cas to understand something new;

The flare up of his hopes and desires will never be silent forever.

Charlie and Dean are quarrelling in Dean’s room. About Cas.

“What are you going to do, live with him forever? You lived with him in college, you’re living with him after college, and then what? Are you going to move him into your guest room when you get a wife and buy a house with a white picket fence? He isn’t your therapy dog, Dean.”

“Don’t say shit like that to me. He’s not—he’s not that. He’s everything to me. I’m allowed to want him around for as long as I can have him!” Dean argues with fervour. “He’s my—he’s my—this is _Cas_!”

  
  
“You refused to move in with Cassie today so you could keep living with Cas. You broke up with your very serious girlfriend over Cas. Everything you do revolves around Cas.” Charlie’s voice drops to an octave so low that Cas has to strain to hear her. “This isn’t healthy, Dean. You’re leading him on.”

“Leading him on?” Dean cries, “leading him onto _what_? He’s not _in love_ with me, Charlie! This is how we are. We’ve always been this way. You’ve not said anything until now, so let me ask you, why now?”

“Because you let Cassie go so you can hang onto Cas. Because I think you might actually feel the same way he does and you’re just too _stupid_ or unwilling to know it.”

Cas sucks in a terrified shot of air.

“And what feeling is that?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

“Well, then maybe you should mind your own business.” Dean’s voice goes cold. “You’ve also said enough for me to guess what you so _respectfully_ aren’t saying.”

Charlie quiets just for a moment. “You’re just—you’re so dense sometimes, Dean. You’re going to end up hurting him and yourself, you know that?”

“I would _never_ hurt Cas.” Dean sounds so threatening that the walls go silent for a minute.

“I’m leaving,” Charlie declares.

Cas listens to her feet scurry against their floorboards into the living room. Dean’s footsteps hurry out after her. Cas hopes it’s to apologise.

He isn’t surprised when he hears Dean shout instead, “ _fine_!”, the word laden with spite.

_Fine_ —Dean’s go-to retort when he feels hurt and defensive against someone he cares about.

“You know, I thought you were better than this, Charlie—but you’re just like every other asshole that thinks Cas and I have something fucked up going on just because our relationship runs deeper than anything. Friends can be intimate, friends can kiss—”

“I’ve seen you make out with a few girls, kissed your brother on the cheek, roughhoused with Benny, and cuddle with Rowena on occasion, Dean, but I have _never_ seen you look at anyone the way you look at that man,” she volleys back ardently. “Sam and Cas, that’s a friendship that runs deep. Even you and Benny.”

Cas waits with bated breath.

”You and Cas, that’s something else entirely.”

Dean is struck silent to Cas’ chagrin. He itches to be inside Dean’s head to hear his thoughts.

“Oh, and before I go,” Charlie says, sounding a mixture of amused and saddened and irritated, “that first girl you could see yourself falling in love with...the one you dumped so you could stay joined at the everything to Cas? Her name is _Cassie_. Freudian slip, much?”

Charlie emphasises her point by slamming the door behind her. With as much fury and annoyance as Dean once did six years ago at Cas’ first girlfriend’s doorstep.

Cas waits a few minutes on the foot of his bed, tapping his fingers restlessly on his knees.

The sound of clattering objects and crashing furniture accompanied by Dean cursing loudly jostles Cas into action.

He doesn’t remember pushing his way through the door and stumbling into the next room.

He _does_ remember finding Dean sitting on the floor, staring blankly ahead, their bookcase lying beside him along with an assortment of books, baubles, and broken glass.

“The TV is still intact at least,” Cas half-heartedly jokes.

Dean convulses with slightly crazed laughter.

Then he stops. “Shit. You’re home.”

“Yes. My date stood me up.”

“What an idiot.”

“Not as big of an idiot as you,” Cas says fondly, brushing aside whatever litter lain by the spot next to Dean so he can occupy its place. “Are you alright?”

“Depends. How much of that did you hear?”

“Pretty much all of it.”

“Then nah, I’m not alright.”

Cas inches his hand towards where one of Dean’s rests on his thigh. He skims that thigh until their fingertips brush. Dean immediately unfurls his fingers to let Cas’ slip between until the heat of their palms press together tightly.

This is what Cas considers his ultimate comfort. He hopes it’s even a sliver of that to Dean in this time.

”Y’know, sometimes I think this is better than actual sex with actual women.”

Cas frowns. “What?”

Dean lifts their intertwined hands. “ _This_ , dumbass. You and me. Holding hands.”

“Oh.” Cas’ face heats up. He swallows thickly to prod away the knot in his throat.

  
“Sorry, that sounded pretty gay, didn’t it?”

”Um.”

“What, you really not going to comment on that whole—what’s a word you’d use...debacle?” Dean asks, mildly and sadly beguiled.

Cas grimaces. “I’m sorry you and Cassie broke up.”

“It’s fine. I still have you.”

“You should have moved in with her.”

“Didn’t want to.” Dean rests his head on Cas’ shoulder, sniffs his neck.

“Did you just sniff me?”

Dean ignores him. “I don’t want to live without you.”

“I’d still be here, Dean,” Cas assures him gently, “we would still spend time together.”

“Not enough,” grumbles Dean into the scruff at Cas’ jaw. “It’s never enough.”

Cas peers down to where Dean’s face is buried and then at their joined hands. He thinks for him this is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I’m sorry if the angst got too much again. Next chapter WILL be lighter and back to basics with fun interlaced with emotion and happy happy happy ❤️
> 
> Kinda


	7. Castiel Novak (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I guess I did turn one chapter into 3 long ones and dragged out the angst far more than necessary. Does it help if I say sorry? Probably not.
> 
> Anyway, this is the final flashback chapter!
> 
> Finally.
> 
> Warning: unhealthy coping mechanisms, i.e drinking to excess (do not try this at home...or anywhere really)

**twenty-eight**

“Don’t do that!” Cas smacks Dean on the nose as if he were a poorly trained puppy. “You know I don’t like being bitten!”

Dean pretends to whine into a corner before bounding back into Cas’ personal space to playfully snap his teeth at him. Cas belts out a boisterous burst of drunken giggles, shoving him away by his sternum.

“Come on, sunshine, just a little taste.”

“Stop it, Dean!”

“You both realise you are in public, right?” Benny drawls, watching them apathetically. “Incorrigible, you boys are.”

“We’re all the same age, don’t call us boys,” Cas snips cattily in a mood that only Dean would usually adopt.

Benny smirks at Cas with an air of cool boredom. Their friendship has always been lightly contemptuous and Cas always finds himself returning Benny’s friendly jabs as childishly as possible when he’s intoxicated.

“Hey, did Cas teach you that?” Dean momentarily halts his attack on Cas to lean forwards across their booth, sloppy as can be. “’Cause he calls me that word all the time.”

“Then perhaps you should learn what it means,” says Benny.

“I know what it means,” Dean replies, “it means he doesn’t like it so much when I do shit like this—”

Cas has no time to compose his defence. Dean launches on top of him quicker than hell could scorch a feather. They fumble about, laughing, until Cas loses momentum first and his back hits the bottom of their seat.

“Dean! Stop!”

“Yes, Dean, please stop,” Benny drones, sighs, and takes a sip of his beer.

“My brother got engaged! Our spirits should all be up! We’re celebrating!”

“Where _is_ Sam?” Cas asks. “I thought this was meant to be a celebration for _him_.”

“Well, now, our little moose is all grown up—and—” Dean pauses to burp resoundingly, “and maybe it takes him longer to get ready with all that hair grown out—I dunno. This was a very last minute dot com kinda thing.” Dean pauses again to titter. “Shit, I don’t actually remember if I invited him.”

“Dean!”

“Cas!” Dean squeals back with levity. His lips are drawn up into a charming grin that is absolutely dashing.

“I cannot believe you forgot to text Sam,” huffs Cas, quickly casting his gaze away from Dean’s mouth.

“He was already drunk when he called me to drive you both to the nearest bar. I can’t say I’m shocked that his plans are, once again, unplanned,” comments Benny.

“Hey, don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Dean interjects, pouting crabbily.

Cas makes sure to train his eyes on the tumbler glass in his hands and not at Dean’s jutted lips.

“Castiel, I assume you just went along with whatever Dean was doing again and that’s why you’re slowly sliding down the booth like a wet fish.”

“Most fish are wet. You didn’t necessarily need to specify.”

“Not really the point I was trying to drive home.”

"Dean needed a drinking partner,” utters Cas as his excuse, head bowed in shame as he shuffles upright.

“Oh, well, of course. Whatever Dean needs, right?”

Benny’s devilish teasing has sharpened into scrutiny. Cas tenses. His glassy eyes begin to focus more keenly on his friend’s expression.

Cas was once a far more serious boy who discerned his childhood as a series of carefully moderated and formulaic performances.

Towards the path of success and righteousness.

Towards predetermined plans.

He had done his best, despite being off the line with a crack in his chassis, to blindly follow his elders’ orders and pursue what had been stapled into his understanding as ‘the norm.’

This was until his friendship with Dean Winchester started skewing his wiring with happy flickers of unpredictability.

Dean has loosened Cas’ system of being to the point that he often forgets to limit himself and his whims. Most days, he doesn’t try to fit in at all.

He wonders if today is the day his carelessness finally comes to pulverise his best kept secret.

Dread slinks forward.

He clambers to remember if he had been staring at Dean too much tonight, more so than usual, _more_ enough for it to be picked up on by their close friend.

His senses, no matter how dulled, still attunes to others’ inspections of him from time to time.

Now, he notices an etch of concern and pity on Benny’s face. It’s directed straightly at him.

“Cas, would you mind grabbing us a couple more beers?”

“More?” Dean exclaims, his head rolling to the side. “Man, I’m thinking of heading home _soon_.”

“A couple glasses of water then.”

Cas latches onto this opportunity to flee with enthusiasm. “Of course. Definitely.” He’s already halfway out the booth. “I’m just going to the bathroom first. Feeling a little nauseous. Might be awhile.”

Dean’s slumped posture straightens. His woozy face clears with bright worry.

“Dean—” Cas starts.

“What’s wrong?”

“Dean, I’m _fine_. It’s likely the copious amounts of alcohol we drank. I’m sobering up, but I feel as if I’ve consumed an entire liquor store and it’s not pleasant.”

Dean looks hesitant. “You sure you’re alright? You want me to come with you—”

“Jesus christ,” Benny mutters. “Cas, go. Dean, sit your ass back down. He’s a grown man. You don’t need to follow him into the toilet like a little duckling just to make sure he comes back in one piece.”

Dean doesn’t appear convinced, but Cas turns the corner as fast as he can and presses his back against a wall before an argument can be broached. He extinguishes a shuddering breath before he can exhale it too loudly and shuts his eyes to quiet his surroundings.

He sinks to the floor, head in hands, ignoring the barflies barrelling in and out the nearby toilets just as they ignore him.

He still hasn’t managed to control his palpitations when Benny’s voice drills through the crowd.

Cas’ skills in eavesdropping has honed over the years. He almost wails aloud to himself out of irritation, because now his brain won’t let him move. Instead, he listens.

“Stop craning your neck. He said he’d be awhile. Why don’t you just sit here and talk to your old friend?” prods Benny. Though he can’t see him, Cas imagines him in detective-mode, taking a measured and thoughtful drink of his beer. “Why _did_ you feel the urge to get drunk after the news of Sam’s engagement?”

Cas knows why.

Dean was struck almost euphoric by the news of Sam and Eileen’s engagement.

This lasted for approximately an hour or so, up until a niggling thought started crawling around and burrowing a home inside his brain. Cas had watched as the glow emanating off of Dean took a nosedive. He had watched and he had frowned.

“Benny has Andrea, Charlie’s got Dorothy, Garth’s got Bess, even Rowena’s got Ketch—I mean, _ew—_ but still, it’s someone. Now Sam and Eileen are riding off into the sunset too. I’m happy, man, I’m _so_ happy for my baby brother settling down with this kickass girl, but when I think about myself for a second—”

“I see where this is going and you need to stop—”

“Cas, I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve accumulated exactly _one_ serious girlfriend…who I broke up with in less than a year of being with her.”

“Dean—”

“It’s never going to click with anyone for me, is it?” Dean had muttered, biting at the skin of his thumb. Cas remembers this because he had stared too hard. “I’m not even sure what being in love feels like. The only person I—forget it. I’m happy, I’m happy, but shit—I’m gonna die alone.”

Cas also remembers having bitten his lip very hard at this point, and yet, the words he knew were better left unspoken had spilled out anyways. “You’ll always have me.”

“You’ll find someone else too someday. Then it’ll just be me.”

That one had hit too close to home. Dean was most definitely going to find someone else to cook with, to laugh with, to share intimate knowing looks with, and so many more adventures that Cas will not have a chance to partake in with him. Dean will find someone to settle down with and it won’t be Cas. Dean will move on and then it’ll just be Cas.

Dean had reached for the whiskey bottle immediately in Cas’ silence, and Cas, too eagerly, joined him in their shared shitty habit of burying feelings. They had sat beside each other, neither one uttering a noise other than the gulping of liquor.

It hadn’t been until the whiskey got them tipsy enough to quash discomforts that they started snickering over nonsense and musing on Sam’s bachelor party.

“You know, we should just get married for a laugh. Like at Sam’s bachelor party, I mean. It’ll be hilarious. He’d lose his shit and that would really be a night to remember. Everyone else is married. You and I…should…um…just—”

“Stop talking.” Cas had yanked the whiskey bottle out of Dean’s grip then.

He remembers it spilling because he had pulled too hard, too angrily, too spitefully, irked by Dean ruining their merry bubble with a preposterous and cruel idea. He had forgotten that it isn’t as if Dean _knows_ about Cas’ feelings—so he had snapped, “Yes, I think you’ve had just about enough to drink.”

“C’mon, Cas! Let’s do it!”

“I’m going to say fine for now because you are so drunk that I’m sure you’ll forget this stupid idea by morning, and if not then, most _certainly_ before Sam’s bachelor party.”

“Not gonna.”

That’s about all Cas can recall because Dean was already punching Benny’s number into his phone and dialling by then, and Cas…Cas, in the meantime, had gone for another furious swig at the bottle.

Now he regrets this entire night because he’s sobering up and his ears are perked, awaiting Dean’s response despite already knowing the answer to Benny’s question.

A rather personal answer which Dean dodges by snorting obnoxiously.

He didn’t dodge it with Cas.

Cas smiles bashfully to himself.

“You shouldn’t drag Cas along on all your self-destructive schemes. He’s my friend too. I don’t want you breaking him, Dean.”

Cas’ smile flattens into nothing.

“ _Break_ him,” Dean scoffs, “he’s going to be the one to break _me_ one of these days.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” needles Benny.

“Fuck off, man.”

Cas can’t hear it—but after becoming so well-versed in this kind of interactive episode with their friends, he’s sure Benny sighs at this point.

“Many lines have been crossed, brother.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s definitely starting to lose his happy drunk high. There’s an argumentative edge to his voice that is ascending quickly. “What lines are those?”

“He’s basically your boyfriend, but without the perks.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Sex.”

“I knew what you fucking meant!” Dean bellows. Even from within the bathroom, where Cas _should really be right now_ , he would have heard this exclamation. “I thought I was the drunk idiot tonight, but apparently you are.”

“I’m your designated driver. I’ve had one beer.”

“Then don’t be so crude.”

“Don’t be so crude,” Benny repeats with a pensive hum. “Isn’t that Cas’ catchphrase? You’re sharing sound bites now, along with everything else?”

“Benny, I swear to god—”

“What? I think it’s cute. Alright, that did sound a bit sarcastic but I mean it. I really think you two—”

“I can’t believe what a big bag of dicks you’re being right now. I’m gonna go find—”

“Gonna go find Cas?” Benny finishes for him.

He hears a dangerous grumble that could have come from no one else but Dean. It’s deep, and dark, and if Cas isn’t careful, the noise creates terrible flutters inside his stomach.

“You know, I’ve been watching you two dance around each other since we were all going through puberty,” Benny continues. Cas’ muscles seize up. “Isn’t twenty-eight old enough to have your bisexual awakening? Or whatever your Cas-specific orientation comes under.”

The lightheadedness Cas is experiencing from a conversation he’s _not_ _even a part of_ is far more conducive to vomit than alcohol poisoning.

“People realise it at different times all the time. People accept things at different speeds,” Dean retorts. Benny must have done something with his face then because Dean groans aloud. “I wasn’t talking about _me.”_

“Did you not catch the puberty thing? You’ve been casually checking out his ass since we were fourteen.”

“I do _not_ check out Cas’ ass.”

Cas thinks this is a good time to actually go to the bathroom now so he can retch up every inch of his mortification.

“Okay, whatever, fine! My eyes happen to land there from time to time, I’m only human. Have you _seen_ his ass?”

“No, because I don’t look.”

“Well,” Dean flails, voice high, “that’s a damn lie. Anyone would look. It doesn’t mean I want to bang him or anything. He’s objectively a very attractive guy.”

Cas’ breath hitches.

“Objectively, yeah.”

“I mean, his eyes are like…the bluest blue to ever blue, if you know what I mean.”

Cas’ palms bead with sweat.

“I don’t really, no.”

“Okay, well, have you ever heard of alaskan malamutes? Of course you have. They’re a deeper and nicer blue than that. You’d know if you weren’t so oblivious.”

Cas grins. He recollects the vague memory of Dean once calling him a human husky when they were children.

“Yeah. I’m the oblivious one.”

Cas is barely listening to what Benny is saying.

“And his hair. I’d rather stroke that than a damn cat. It’s really soft. Have you felt it?”

Cas’ nausea has been entirely remedied.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t remember.”

“Well, you should. You _would_ remember if you have. It smells nice too. He uses this really great responsibly-sourced shampoo that don’t test on animals and stuff, ‘cause you know, he’s all about just…just being the greatest fucking guy. He cares about everything so damn much.”

Cas hugs his knees to his chest, smiling uncontrollably.

“Did you know that he puts socks on me while I sleep if I forget to? He also sneaks wheatgrass powder and crushed vitamins into my protein shakes to make me healthier. He thinks I don’t know.”

“Everybody and their mom knows.”

Cas’ cheeks go crimson.

“I’ve been thinking about this for awhile…I think I’m going to build a greenhouse for him, y’know. Someday when we get a place bigger than what we have now. Maybe behind our house—”

“Dean, listen to yourself, you’re going to buy a _house_ with him now?”

“He’s into all that healthy shit like Sammy, aside from my burgers, heh—he never refuses them…but—uh—he’s always talking about wanting to grow his own organic fruit and vegetables. A greenhouse would be a great birthday gift or…maybe just something I can do for him to make him happy.”

“Dean, stop!”

Cas staggers and almost falls to his side. The quixotic fantasy Dean has painted shatters.

“No cute little home projects, no sharing beds on cold nights instead of just turning on the damn heating—it’s really not that expensive, my friend—and _under no circumstance_ will you take him to that Taylor Swift concert.”

“Wait. Wait. Hold on. _What_? No Taylor Swift? But...” Dean stutters. “But Taylor Swift!”

“No Taylor Swift.”

“Not even Shake it Off?”

“Not even a _little_ Shake it Off! You heard it on the radio one damn time.”

“We like her other music too.”

Benny ignores this very important piece of information. “Most importantly, you will not build him that greenhouse. It’s an effortful and thoughtful gesture that implies way more than friendship.”

“Way more than friendship,” Dean splutters.

“And that's not gonna happen, is it? According to your stance on your relationship with Cas.”

“Wha—?”

“You and Cas. More than friendship?”

“We’ve already got way more than that! We—we got a special…um...profound...type...thing.”

“Bond?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Brother…” Benny says in the most empathetic timbre Cas has ever heard on the man, “if you won’t accept…if you can’t let yourself want anything more yet…you also can’t be acting like there is more. This is going to spiral into something fantastically stupid and that stupid thing is going to blow up in both your faces. It’s also just going to drag out an ache that won’t be pacifiable.”

“Benny, I’m gonna level with you,” responds Dean after a moment of quiet from their booth, “I’m not sober enough to understand half of what you just said. All I know is if Cas wants to grow tomatoes in cow shit, then I’m gonna build him a fancy fuckin’ shed to do it in.”

This is the moment that Cas’ chest caves with more want than he’s allowed himself to feel in almost a decade and also the same moment that a girl with dark brown curls in stilettos and leather trips over where he is sitting.

“Dude! Watch where you’re sitting.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I was just about to head into—”

“Clarence?”

Cas squints at the figure standing before him, trying to firm up his vision in the light-starved space.

“Meg?”

“Fancy running into drunk-you here,” she says, offering him her hand to help him to his feet. He takes it gingerly. “Not seen you in awhile, handsome. Especially not this wobbly on your toes. Kismet, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, um—“ Cas shrugs, flustered. “I’m still not…”

“Relax. I know you’re not interested. It’s called harmless flirting.” She leers at him. “Where’s your other half?”

“Cas!” he hears Dean call. “Buddy, that you? You okay?”

Cas’ head is going to explode. His harried thoughts are bursting in his throbbing brain like popcorn kernels on high heat.

Without forethought or due consideration, he clutches Meg by her elbow and steers her into a disabled toilet. It was a surprisingly seamless spin.

“Wow,” she says indifferently as he goes to lock the door, “didn’t think you had it in you. I mean, really, _ever_ —but in a disabled toilet? A little kinky and fucked up, not gonna lie. I like it.”

“Um—sorry—no…not that.”

She lifts a brow at him curiously. “Your boyfriend called out for you and your first instinct was to hide. Okay, explainable, maybe. I can’t think of a reason as to why you’d bring me in here _with_ you though.”

“Can I ask you a question?” he blurts out, shoulders heaving from his heavy breaths.

“Of course, Clarence, I’m obviously here at this bar for no other reason than to solve your puzzles. You’re absolutely not wasting _any_ of my time tonight, which I have allotted to picking up a guy.”

He waves away her sarcasm. “Under what circumstances would you build someone a greenhouse?”

Meg pulls a disgusted face. “Am I like a carpenter in this scenario?”

“No. I mean for a friend…for instance.”

“Am I, what, in love with them or something?”

“No! Utterly not.”

“Am I being blackmailed then?”

“Meg, be serious, please.”

"Wait, is this like an _extortion_ type thing?”

“Meg.”

“Have I been kidnapped into slave labour?”

Cas glowers at her. “Perhaps you just aren’t a nice enough person to make an effort for others.”

“Uh, yeah, hi, I’m Meg, I’m not a very nice person,” she says disinterestedly, “Sorry, I thought we’d already met. Like. Ages ago.”

“Alright, I’m just going to…go.”

He has the door unlatched and one foot out when her hand settles on his shoulder. It’s comfortable there and almost tender. “Claren— _Castiel_.”

He turns his head minutely and blinks. Meg is doddering from one foot to another like she’s hopping on coals. This is obviously very uncomfortable for her.

“Look, I’m just going to spit it out. You should go outside and talk to him.”

“I can’t—pardon? I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I have no idea what you were talking about either, but I’m gonna chance a guess that whatever it is, it’s about Dean.” She drops her head backwards and emits a loud groan as if her body was physically protesting her actions. “ _Ugh_. I hate this. Don’t you _ever_ make me do this again. Look. You two are…good together. Just—just go talk to him, alright?”

“I—”

“If you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about one more time, I’m going to slap you.”

Cas’ lips smack together and he chooses to stay quiet.

“You’re braver than you think, okay?”

_That_ makes him chuckle.

“I’m terrified, Meg. I’ve been terrified all night. Maybe my entire life,” he admits tautly.

Once the implicit confession has leaked through, he feels a grand weight slacken away from his entire corporeal body and mind.

Meg touches his hand carefully with hers and holds it for a warm moment. There’s a gentleness to her touch that is out of nature for her, sweet, calming, and—

“ _Ow_!” Cas cries as she uses their interlocked hands to smack him upside the head in a brutal wallop. “What was that for?” he demands, betrayed.

She shakes her hand off of his. “Being terrified and doing it in spite of the terror is what bravery _is_ , you idiot. If you aren’t scared, it isn’t courage. There’s a lot of strength in vulnerability, you know.” She kicks him lightly on the shin with her heel for good measure. “Now will you please go out there and sort your shit out? Otherwise, I’m going to start charging you for this therapy session.”

“I don’t think therapists use forms of violence to assist their patients,” Cas mumbles, rubbing the side of his head.

Meg glares at him. His hands fly up as a barricade between them.

“Yes, I am _leaving_!” he assures her clamorously, revolving out the door as he speaks.

He barrels straight into Dean.

Dean glances straight from Cas to Meg, eyes narrowing into thin slits.

Cas hears Benny curse beneath his breath, somewhere behind Dean, muttering, “here we go.”

“I thought you were feeling _sick_. What the fuck are you doing in the toilet with her?”

“Hello to you too, Dean,” Meg greets in a monotone, “always so polite.”

“Yeah, yeah, _hey_ Megalodon.”

She crosses her arms at him. “I’m barely a hundred and thirty pounds, Dean.”

“I was referencing your savagery, sharp teeth, and oh—you’re a fucking mean beast. Also, I’m running out of puns.”

She lethargically rolls her eyes and shoves her way past Cas, past Dean, past Benny, and finally past their sight.

“Cas?” Dean pesters between gritted teeth. “What were you doing in there with her?”

“Did—did you hear—?”

“No, I didn’t fucking hear,” Dean snaps. “I wouldn’t want to. _Gross_. I’m—I’m getting another drink at the bar. Either get Benny to drive you home or…” Dean sneers at nobody in particular, avoiding Cas’ imploring eyes. “Or get a ride home to Meg’s, I guess. Have fun.”

“Dean, wait.”

“Sorry, pal, I’ve got a busty blonde bartender I’ve got to attend to right now,” he says coolly. “Clocked her the moment I came in. Maybe I’ll have a better shot now that I’m riding solo. See you tonight—or whenever.”

Benny is shoved away for the second time as Dean propels through him. He looks barely bothered by the intrusion, only sapped and fatigued.

“Right, Cas,” Benny says tiredly, “let’s get ourselves home, shall we?”

Cas paces forward, makes sure he doesn’t run into Benny’s shoulder like the two before him had done. His eyes trail Dean’s back. He watches blankly as Dean finds himself a stool and easily catches the attention of the pretty barmaid.

“Cas? You alright there?” Benny asks in a small voice, as if he doesn’t want to startle a spooked rabbit.

Cas is no longer terrified. It’s almost a relief to know for certain that there is zero good to come out of burdening Dean with his feelings. Nothing will come out of it apart from tension and fallout. Perhaps something good can come out of him leaving Dean be. Like the girl behind the bar that Dean looks engrossed in currently.

“Go home, Benny. I’ve already got a ride,” Cas says over his shoulder with a reassuring smile.

“What? Cas, no—”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest. He pitches his body through throngs of people in search of one, hoping he loses Benny in the process.

It seems he eventually does because when he finds Meg in the crowd, he’s alone.

She is too.

He copies Dean’s charming half-turned grin, inviting and salacious. “Do you want to get out of here?”

A brief look of disappointment crosses her face which they both choose to ignore.

“Lead the way, angel.”

**thirty-two (present day)**

“Yeah. You really are a pretty good pretender, aren’t you? Have you always been this good and I’ve just…not noticed?” Dean asks flatly.

Cas’ impromptu confession dragged a lot of him and yet there’s still enough adrenaline pumping through his veins that he almost powers through to confess everything to Dean in its entirety.

He almost does it.

After their intimate romp in his bed—which Dean most _definitely_ enjoyed as much as Cas did if biology were anything to go by—he’s felt a flash of hope so luminous that it eclipses all the flickers he’s felt in the past.

He opens his mouth to Say Out Loud, finally.

Then—not so finally.

The damaged look Dean affects is what pauses him.

Cas morphs his expression into an amused one to lighten the mood for his friend who doesn’t appear ready to take another hit right now. Cas isn’t entirely sure what Dean is upset about—perhaps the fact that he enjoyed their kiss isn’t particularly welcoming—but Cas is sure he can wheedle the specifics out of Dean as always with some light humor.

“You don’t really notice much,” Cas goes to point out in jest with a lopsided smile. “You’re about as perceptive as a blind eyeball.”

“Sure, _I’m_ oblivious,” mumbles Dean in return.

Cas acts mock-offended as he takes the space next to Dean that Sam had previously occupied.

“I’m not oblivious, Dean,” he replies, playing on a scandalised voice. When Dean doesn’t rise to the occasion with a quippy retort, he nudges his friend’s knees with his own meaningfully. “I notice most things, like how you seem not very happy right now. What can I do to make you happy, Dean?”

Dean puffs out a scoff. “You could start by throwing out the coconut oil you slather on your skin every Sunday night. Makes you smell weird. You’re basically a damn baby in a trench-coat as it is, your skin doesn’t need to be any softer than it already—” his voice fades mid-rant when he turns to face Cas and their noses bump together.

They’ve sat this close before. They _just_ made out. They’ve knocked noses, chests, shoulders, and even the most intimate of appendages some mornings.

Somehow this feels different. Somehow this feels like there could be more.

Dean sways infinitesimally towards him.

Cas is tugged forward by the sheer thrill of their equally heated stares interlocking.

He only momentarily curves his gaze downwards when Dean wets his lips. Cas quirks his own in an encouraging smile.

There’s no point in any attempt at calming his racing pulse now.

“ _You_ don’t really notice much,” Dean counters belatedly. He murmurs this in a much lower pitch than they’d been talking in, sending gooseflesh up Cas’ arms and his eyes back up to meet Dean’s.

“Can I kiss you again?”

For a brief fragment of a second, before his cerebral functions can catch up to this moment, Cas thinks he’s uttered these unspeakable words out loud himself.

His lips part, flummoxed, once he replays the rushed question that’s flooded out of _Dean’s_ mouth.

For the first time in four years, Cas is terrified.

“Um—” Dean swallows, drawing Cas’ attention to the veins on his throat that protrudes with strain. “Sorry. I just—I meant p-practice. For—”

“Yes.”

“ _Yes_?” echoes Dean with disbelief but an eager fervour all the same. His pupils have dilated to the point of dwarfing the hazel-speckled green that surrounds it.

Cas lets out an almost two-decade old breath of yearning. “God, yes.”

He supposes it isn’t only terror this time.

The instant Dean collides into him with fire and zeal, Cas knows it is also exhilaration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t hate Benny for discouraging their admittedly cute but ultimately unhealthy behaviour, he’s just trying to be a good friend
> 
> Also, I felt the need to explain why Charlie and Dorothy seemed a better match for me than the more explicitly canon Charlie x Stevie - we didn’t really get much screen time of their chemistry before she poof’d off the CW for being gay, and our OG Charlie seemed better suited to Dorothy. Just my humble opinion! x


	8. Dean & Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story’s back y'all.
> 
> It’s been a long hiatus, but not as long as hiatus #1 ✌️
> 
> The last two months of my life is titled the never-ending saga of ‘oh shit’, from friend drama to quitting my job to starting a new one to legit being in hospital for a week, but I'm so ready and excited to get back to writing fic again 😄

This has been, by far, one of the best and most stressful weeks of Dean’s small life.

It is with unfamiliarity and clumsiness that he first approaches kissing someone with bristle and a distinctly masculine body.

Bewilderedness eventually unfolds into a series of nervous thrills.

In all the beginnings and in-betweens and ends, his head and his heart flare with every touch and look and word because it’s _Cas._ He enjoys everything better with Cas. Physical intimacy, apparently, is now tremendously included.

His friend stirs beside him, wriggling closer, nuzzling into Dean’s neck. He is wedged between Dean’s right arm and his side, chin rested atop Dean’s collarbone with a hand splaying over Dean’s chest to prop himself up.

Dean smiles sleepily, burrowing his face into Cas’ chaos of hair and indulging in a long-drawn inhale.

His touch can now linger on Cas for as long as he wants, far longer than he would have allowed himself outside of their ruse. His eyes no longer shift away sheepishly when he gets caught staring for too long in front of other people nor does he need to simmer his warm looks at Cas when they become too heated. Their shoulders can stay pressed, their hands can stay held, their feet can stay poking into each other, and it’s no longer an eccentricity for them to be the way they are.

Dean had not truly felt it in his bones before now how exhausting it’s been, defending who they are to each other. The fatigue of pretending is only palpable to him now in the relief of its absence.

It’s funny that this relief is only brought on by a different layer of pretending.

It’s funny and a little bit sad that, all in all, it has been far too effortless acting like he’s in love with his best friend.

“I think Sam and Eileen are awake. I hear them pottering around outside,” Cas mumbles against Dean’s shoulder now, face inching down to smush flat against the fabric of his shirt.

Dean has taken up wearing more than a pair of boxers to bed, initially to Cas’ confusion and mild surprise. His refusal to offer an explanation only stresses the crinkle on Cas’ forehead every night that he pulls on a newly purchased set of sleepwear.

He’s not about to pipe up with ‘hey buddy, sharing a bed with you almost naked does funny things to my tummy now that I think I like you romantic-style’ just to ease Cas’ puzzlement.

  
“Dean,” Cas groans, and that does amusing things to his stomach too. “Why are they still here? It’s been four days. Do these people not have jobs? They’re so loud.”

Dean sniggers, rubbing the hilt of his palm to his eyes to eradicate sleep. “I thought that once the sun is up, you’re up.”

“I am up. Regrettably. Considering how late we all stayed out last night, I should not be up right now.” Cas emits another unhappy sound from where his face is buried into Dean. “I have had more double dates with your brother and his wife now than I have had in a lifetime.”

“I think they think that the more time they spend with us as a couple, the easier it will be for them to wrap their head around it.” He pauses to yawn loudly. It sets off a sleepy, snuffling noise from Cas that tightens Dean’s chest with fondness. “I think Sam’s also doing the whole atonement routine where he needs to make up for not catching on earlier to the fact that I—that I’m—” Dean stops and chokes on the term, having never fully considered the validity of it until now.

“Sam did briefly think we were a couple when he was younger,” Cas cuts in nonchalantly, rescuing Dean from his verbal traffic. “You shut it down rather quickly. It likely stopped him from ever considering the possibility of you and I together romantically. It isn’t his fault that it became a non-subject over the years…and also, you aren’t actually—um—”

Cas awkwardly untangles himself from his position half-perched on Dean.

They both clear their throats uncomfortably.

“What if he never looks at us the same way again?”

Cas flits a glance sideways at Dean. “You know...Thoreau once wrote that it’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see. I’m sure that Sam doesn’t look at this picture of us and see anything beyond what’s here—which is...just us, being us. A slightly different snapshot of our life is happening before his eyes, that’s true, but we are still happening too, as us, and if I’m being honest, Dean, I don’t really feel like we’ve been acting any differently around Sam and Eileen as we have before, which is to say when we were...not...a fake couple...I mean—bar a few kisses here and there—” Cas stops abruptly and purses his lips in what looks like an effort to silence himself.

Dean observes him so intently that he eventually averts his gaze.

“All I meant to say is that he won’t have to look at us any differently because we’ve been the same as we always are, and we will continue to be what we’ve always been. Sam will see that.”

  
Dean’s nausea quivers beneath a carefully controlled surface.

He isn’t sure he wants to continue being what they’ve always been now that he’s had a sample of what they could be. He disagrees with Cas. Things have been different, even if they aren’t before the eyes of Sam and Eileen and Cas. Things have been greatly different for Dean.

His curiosities over his attraction to Cas have been satisfied and all that’s left now consists of pure want. Their flirtatious quips are no longer just that. Their casual and familiar touches have mutated into fire alighting his flesh. For Dean, all things Cas-related is now headed by an insurmountable longing.

Instead of saying this, he forces a tenuous laugh. “Quoting philosophy first thing in the morning, huh? You know, Cas, I could listen to you talk for hours.” The playful jibe doesn’t come off sounding like a jibe at all. It softens too much into truth. “You’re really clever. I don’t know why you spend so much time with me,” he admits wryly.

“You’re just as clever if not more so, Dean,” Cas argues grumpily, rolling to their bed’s edge and collecting the clothes he’d folded for himself off the floor. “Knowledge regurgitation isn’t the sole indicator of intelligence by any means. There are emotional components—”

“I’m emotionally illiterate too,” Dean proclaims numbly as he watches Cas’ back disappear beneath the shirt he dons.

“Stop that.” When Cas rotates his head to throw Dean a dirty look, Dean flinches at the risk of being found ogling. “You’re going to stop disparaging yourself. I am so tired of you being the only person blind to your value. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know—"

“And you said at the beginning of all this that I wouldn’t be your type,” Dean manages to tease, the words accompanied by an uncomfortable clench around his insides.

Cas blows out an irked puff of air as he reaches over Dean’s side of the bed to rob a pair of socks from his beside drawer.

His breath tickles Dean’s jaw while his body balances lopsidedly above. It makes Dean squirm with giddiness, an interesting sensation that exhilarates his nerves. He hasn’t felt this boyish and unsettled since he was—well—a boy.

“Looks and sounds a bit like I’m very much your type right now, buddy,” he adds hoarsely, overcompensating by just a little.

“You aren’t,” Cas insists as he returns to his side of the bed and yanks Dean’s socks onto his own feet forcefully. “You’re just a warm body, that’s all.”

Dean smirks at Cas. Cas returns it.

It’s a soft and easy moment against tides of grey and uncertainty.

“I don’t think I’ve told you as an adult how—um—great your eyes are,” he finds himself murmuring, unbidden. “I can’t believe I once said they looked like a dog’s.”

Cas breaks into a laugh with his entire body, teeth gleaming in the glow of sunlight that filters through Dean’s curtains. “Well, that came out of nowhere. I can’t believe you remember.”

“’Course I do. I thought it for awhile. Now it just seems kind of rude.”

“It was sweet.” Cas pats Dean’s cheek affectionately and Dean has to actively try not to chase Cas’ hand once it leaves his orbit.

He begins to ponder on how he is much more doglike than Cas as he trails dazedly behind his friend into their kitchen in search of breakfast.

They pass a chipper Eileen and groggy Sam who are padding their way back into Cas’ room, armed with coffee. Cas heads determinedly towards the fridge after exchanging a polite ‘good morning’ with them while Dean launches into a comment about antisocial behaviour which earns him the finger from Sam.

“Great attitude from someone that’s overstayed his welcome!” Dean calls after his brother who mutters something resembling ‘jerk’ under his breath. “You never mind that, Eileen, you’re always welcome here! Even after you come to your senses and divorce Sam!”

Sam shuts Cas’ bedroom door behind them with a resounding thwump. Eileen’s giggles trickle through their walls.

“Can you believe them?” Dean snickers. “Moseying around, skipping between your room and mine like they own the damn place.”

“You were the one that kicked them out of your room, Dean.”

“I wanted my memory foam back. Your mattress is shit, it doesn’t even care enough about you to remember you,” Dean says blithely, circling an arm around Cas to pick up the bacon sizzling away on the pan.

“Dean, be careful, it’s—”

He drops the bacon and shakes his scorched fingertips. “Ow, hot! That’s so hot!”

“You’re thirty-two years old. You should know not to pick food up straight from the pan.” Cas scowls, taking Dean’s fingers into his hands and inspecting them with care. “Of course it’s going to be hot.”

“Not as hot as you,” Dean blurts out and it’s odd.

Their suggestive little remarks have developed a different edge to it. Something shy and tentative but heated. Cas is blushing a lot more these past couple of days.

“Um...” Dean coughs. “So...bacon. Thought you were trying to make me eat healthier.”

“It’s veggie bacon.” He guides Dean’s hand under a cold faucet. “Hold it there for twenty seconds."

“Goddammit, Cas, buy some real food.”

“Do you want to be in charge of our groceries? Please, be my guest.”

Dean grumbles his assent as Cas reaches into their medical aid drawer—they have one under Cas’ insistence—and plucks out a tube of aloe vera gel.

“You’re overreacting,” Dean mutters as Cas ignores him and goes to dry his wet hand with a dish towel in an oddly sweet gesture. A cool substance is then rubbed onto his fingertips. His heartbeat stutters at the gentle contact as well as the sentiment behind the action.

He fumbles out his thanks with a jitteriness that’s fairly novice around Cas.

“Your lack of self-care reminds me, do you have safety goggles for today?”

“Huh?”

“You’re heading over to the roadhouse to fix their sign after breakfast, aren’t you?”

Dean nods mutely.

Cas looks at him expectantly.

Dean waits mutely.

Cas sighs. “You almost got a splinter in your eye the last time you undertook a handyman project—”

“Jesus, Cas, don’t call it a handyman project—"

“—and you said you’d wear protective gear the next time around. Now do you have safety goggles or not?”

“I’m not going to need safety goggles to fix a damn sign. It's not even more than a one-person job. I don't know why Bobby's strung Benny and Ash and Garth into it.”

“So you don't own any then. You can borrow mine,” Cas offers diplomatically, cracking some eggs onto another pan as Dean tends to the bacon.

“Why the hell do you own safety goggles?” Dean asks. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear it if it’s something kinky.”

Cas scoffs. “You always want to hear it when it’s something kinky. What’s changed?”

Dean pointedly shuffles past Cas to set the table.

A list of Dean’s must-wear ‘protective gear’ is narrated to him while they eat their breakfast together. Dean remains adamant on bringing only himself and his tools like a normal human being to Cas’ chagrin.

“At least make sure that you drink all the water that’s in your water bottle today so you don’t become dehydrated.”

“Cas, stop acting like you’re my friggin’ wife.”

What was intended as a lighthearted comment makes Cas recoil a little bit.

Dean tenses. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”

“Thank you for helping with breakfast. Are you still making dinner tonight?” Cas asks jovially, flipping his expression to unbothered in a motion that’s as quick as wink. It makes Dean wonder what else he is concealing, considering the expert transition at play here.

He watches Cas clear the table and load the dishwasher with newfound scrutiny. “I’ll pick up some groceries tonight and make you pasta. Do you want me to make your chicken alfredo?”

“Yes, that would be nice. Don’t forget—”

“I’m not going to forget the mushrooms,” Dean grumbles. “It was one time. Let it go.”

“Right. Well. You better get in the shower. You have to leave soon, don’t you? Make sure to text me when you get there, so I don’t worry about you on the road.”

“You sometimes forget to text me.”

“Yes, well, sometimes I forget. Sue me, I’m fallible.”

“Aw, angel, don’t say that.” Dean reaches out to pinch his nose, receiving a slap on his hand for his efforts. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

Dean’s peripheral vision catches Sam and Eileen staring on with shit-eating grins and then bumping into each other in their failed process of dispersing.

“Hey, geniuses. One of you looks like an overgrown tree. We can _see_ you.”

“Sorry,” Sam laughs. “You guys are just…cute.”

Dean shifts on his feat with unease. “Yeah, well, we’re in love. What can we say, eh, Cas?”

Cas nods jerkily and goes to busy himself with whipping up another batch of breakfast.

“You don’t have to do that, man,” Sam intervenes, hip-checking Cas out the way. “You guys go get ready for the day. I’ve got this.”

“Like they own the place,” repeats Dean, rolling his eyes. He claps Cas on the shoulder, startling him into a posture that’s straighter than a post. “Come on, let’s get in the shower.”

“Gross, Dean, I don’t need to hear that,” Sam mumbles.

“Not like that! I meant one at a time! What’s wrong with you?” Dean barks.

“Jeez, I’m sorry.” Sam holds a hand up in defense, not paying Dean half the attention he’s demanding with his hand to hip stance. “You _are_ sleeping together now. It’s not a big leap.”

“Cas and I have been sleeping in the same bed on and off since we were fifteen. What’s your point?”

“I was talking about sex, Dean.”

Dean splutters. Cas suddenly appears to find a spot on their wall very interesting.

“Wait. Have you guys not had sex?”

“Sam! Inappropriate! No comment!”

“That means they haven’t,” pitches in Eileen.

“No, it doesn’t!” Dean shouts and immediately blanches. His mouth works itself open and shut on override while his thoughts tumble over one another in panic. “I mean yes—not—I don’t—no comment!”

He looks to Cas for assistance but Cas feigns obliviousness so dedicatedly that it’s borderline theatrical.

In a fit of desperation, he flees the scene, sans Cas, feeling feverish.

It doesn’t cool even when he’s under the spray of a cold shower. It’s only when he’s fully dressed that his racing pulse calms, and even then he is still overthinking the components of sex and Cas together, unused to the idea of the two concepts intertwined in a real and authentic way. It’s not as if he’s never entertained the idea as a joke or talked about it in jest many times before. It’s not even as if he’s unfamiliar these days to the idea of wanting Cas. Having it vocalised, however, was too close to manifesting something.

Dean tries to smooth over his prickliness in time for when Cas appears in front of the bathroom door with his own towel in his hand.

“Hi.”

“Er—hey.”

“So...” Cas ventures, looking far too collected. “That was strange.”

Dean scoffs, chucking his chin upward. “Right? So rude.”

“I meant your reaction.”

“Oh.”

“You’re aware we are pretending to be a couple right now, aren’t you?” Cas says, tipping his head. “Couples usually engage in intercourse.”

“Yeah, alright, I get it—”

“It’s not like we’re going to have to actually perform the act together.”

Dean covers his once-again burning face with his hands. “Yes, alright, Cas, I _get_ it.”

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas questions him with narrow-eyed concern and goes to place his towel on the rack. “You’ve said before that it’s less awkward if we just talk about it.”

“If there’s something we should talk about, it’s you,” Dean grits out. “I’d like to talk about why you’re so unaffected. I’m not the one acting weird here. You—you’re weird for being so fine.”

“Excuse me?”

“You!” Dean flaps a hand in Cas’ face, making him spring backwards and stagger. “You’re all devil-may-care about this entire fuck-up!”

“This was _your_ fuck-up,” Cas retorts, affronted.

“I wanted to call time-out back at the yoga studio with Lisa!”

“I did not want to do this in the first place.”

“Okay—well—shit. We are where we are and I don’t know where that is anymore!” Dean cries.

“Dean, try and keep your voice down,” hushes Cas, his hand going to rub a hand down Dean’s arm in a soothing gesture. Dean almost winces away but catches himself in time.

“Cas,” he croaks. “Do you—do you not feel—at all weird about this?”

“Of course I do,” Cas replies coolly. “It’s an odd situation.”

“I’m not talking about your feelings for the situation.”

“What else would I be experiencing feelings about?”

_Me_ , he almost word-vomits. Cas is close enough that Dean can see the vibrations of his shoulders, agitated beneath the guise of calm.

“Are you experiencing feelings that are new? Am I suddenly something different to you now?” There is an element of fear is Cas’ voice that Dean is not used to. “Was I wrong to have thought our friendship was inviolable?”

“Cas,” Dean intones desperately. Everything here is outrageous, from the insanity of their ultimately superfluous scheme down to its evolution into whatever this is now. “You’re my best friend,” Dean extends tentatively, despite that being nowhere near all of it.

“Best friend,” Cas echoes, smiling wanly. He all of a sudden looks very tired. “Yes, of course.”

“Cas,” Dean tries again and falls short. His eyes drop down to where their socked toes almost touch. They’re standing only a little away from one another. It would take a second to close the distance between them.

Dean takes that second and kisses Cas with it.

A muffled and surprised sound hums through where their lips touch. He deepens the grazing of their mouths. Cas responds with an enthusiasm that has Dean grinning into their kiss and eventually he’s grinning too widely to continue so vigorously so he inches back to pepper Cas’ jaw with small pecks. It’s a new and thrilling development up until Cas pulls away.

“Dean—”

Dean parries on by sealing his lips to Cas’ again, swallowing his protest.

He realises now how ridiculous it is that he’s been acting so squirrelly over familiar touches and suggestive remarks, but apparently has no problem pretending to be Cas’ boyfriend or making out with him.

“I didn’t realise we were doing this so much more thoroughly now,” Cas says breathily when Dean pulls back, his hitch of breath hitching Dean’s. “Aren’t we—isn’t this a little too far for pretend or practice or—what is this, Dean?”

Had Cas not seemed to physically enjoy it to an indisputable degree, Dean would potentially feel guiltier than he already does for taking advantage of the situation. He’s halfway to convincing himself that Cas is not that amenable a friend—no one could be—and that he must be appreciating this at least a sliver.

“You tell me. You really mean to tell me this doesn’t—that you don’t feel anything after that?” he cajoles with his forehead falling to rest against Cas’.

He’s too exhausted to fabricate apathy at this point. If he’s not going crazy, the softness is Cas’ face, millimetres from his, makes it look like he’s feeling something here too.

A kaleidoscope of fairy-tale images fans out in Dean’s mind, each cheesier and sappier and more sentimental than the last. He’s got a picture of him and Cas strolling down a riverbank, hand in hand, setting up a picnic, kissing on a dinner date, buying a house together, getting a dog, maybe one day a—

Then Cas implodes on Dean like a cold douse of water over his head.

“Is that what’s got you acting so strange throughout this?” He draws back. “You’re thinking I’ve been harbouring...more than friendly inclinations towards you—and you can marry me as a joke and kiss me as a joke but once your family or friends or, forbid it, _I_ actually start believing a romance between us is not a joke, that’s a step too far for you.”

“Whoa!” Dean tumbles backwards, dumbstruck. “That is _really_ not what I’m getting at here!”

“Surprise, Dean! You’ve been laying kisses on me since we were teenagers and—and stripping in front of me and wrestling me and _marrying me_! I think I can hold it together over one lousy play-pretend.”

“Cas, pal, you’re spiralling—”

“I certainly am not,” Cas says, suddenly falling serene and vacant, “and I can also assure you that I am not pining for you because of some kisses. The idea is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, yeah.” He smiles tightly at Cas. “Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.”

"Me too."

“Good.”

“Great.”

“ _Grand_.”

Dean shoulders past Cas and almost runs straight into Sam as he’s leaving the apartment, safety goggles and a water bottle and car keys in hand.

"Um—so I heard some yelling. Are you okay?" Sam’s eyebrows fly up his head when Dean scowls at him. “What’s wrong with your face? You guys just have your first lover’s tiff or what?”

“Something like that,” Dean mutters, shutting the door behind him with a slam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this chapter angsty? I can’t tell anymore. Dean and Cas’ fight to me is not even a blip on their friendship because they always seem to bounce back 😌


	9. Bobby, Benny, & the Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta and friend @Seralina 🥺 This update would have likely taken months to post if it wasn’t for her. You’re the best gal anyone can dream of

Ellen was as enthusiastic about the finished result of their labour as Dean expected her to be.

A curt nod confirmed her satisfaction with their efforts and later Bobby, Benny, Ash, Garth, and Dean were ushered into the largest booth at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, armed with free meals on the house.

From his drink arriving to his burger’s demolition to forking at the dregs of his pie, Dean spends this time internally haranguing himself over his fight with Cas. He’s managed to convince himself that Cas will never talk to him again and that he’s going to die alone and that he was deluded to ever think even for a second that their friendship could turn into some big romantic gay love when his phone rings.

His fork clangs on his plate noisily in his rush to answer.

“Cas?” he splutters out hopefully before even looking at caller ID.

Thankfully, his favourite voice is on the other line. “Hello, Dean.”

“Listen, Cas, I’m really—”

“I’m sorry too.”

Dean exhales his held breath, reassured and calmed within a moment. He closes his eyes for a brief second and relishes in the relief.

“I’m going to make you the best pasta in your life when I get home,” he says around a smile.

Cas’ deep laughter filters through his phone, warming his insides into goo. “Suck-up.”

“I’ll suck you up,” Dean goads to the disgusted groans of his adopted father and friends around the table. Benny goes as far as to chuck a french fry at his head.

“You’re so crass,” Cas says with a hint of fondness that makes Dean’s smile widen.

“I hate it when we fight.”

“I know,” Cas hums through the line. “Me too.”

“I shouldn’t have left things like that. I should have stayed and explained. You know, I really didn’t mean to imply—” he cuts himself off, eyeing his company warily even as they’ve all gone back to ignoring him and having conversations amongst themselves. “Well...you know.”

“I know,” Cas repeats quietly. “I shouldn’t have...jumped to conclusions. I was feeling a little sensitive from—well...you know.”

“I know.” Dean bites the edge of his bottom lip. “Er—we’re good though?”

“We’re always good, Dean.”

Dean’s heart sinks a little from the yearning he feels in that moment, the yearning that he has to temper because it isn’t returned. He wants to risk it all again—the fight, the rejection, the crumble of their familiarity for a crumb of something more. He wants so heavily that it’s weighing him down.

“Have you told any more people yet? Are we still going through with this?”

Dean chuckles. “It’s a bit late for that now, don’t you think? Hell, I’m surprised Sam and Eileen have kept their word and not babbled to anyone yet.”

“Do you want me to come over so we can tell Bobby together along with everyone else and—oh my god, we have to lie to Bobby,” Cas bleats with regret. “Oh my god, I feel sick.”

“You don’t have to come over,” Dean says grimly, once again wondering how the hell he survived life this long being such a monumental idiot and getting them into this situation. “It’s my mess. I’ll—I’ll go through with it myself on this front. It’s on me.”

“No, it’s on us. It’s our mess,” Cas rectifies him. “I’m coming.”

Dean sits up a little straighter, worn. “No, Cas, look—it’s not like we’re getting married...again,” he snorts to himself and receives a puzzled and concerned look from Benny who seems to be picking up on Dean’s end of the conversation.

“Dean...” Cas implores.

“I’ll see you at home. It’ll be fine.” He’s not sure if he’s convincing himself or Cas.

“If you’re sure...”

“I am. Talk to you later. Love you.”

Oh, no.

His slip is met with silence.

Dean’s heart kicks into gear and runs at the speed it would if he were to be perched over a cliff edge. He opens his mouth in a panic to amend it with no luck in more useful words tumbling out.

“Um...” Cas responds as Dean’s face drains of blood. “Love you too. Bye.”

_Love you too?_

The phone line clicks end and Dean sits in horror and wonder and hope. These feelings all escape in one quick flight once he consoles himself in that they’ve exchanged words of love before. It’s not new. It’s only new to Dean because he maybe, might actually, be a little bit in—

“Love you?” Benny’s voice peals through his mortified reverie. “What’s up with that? Is that how you two end phone calls now?”

“Er—“

“Weird, Dean. Really fucking weird. What are you, boyfriends?”

“About that...” Dean begins awkwardly, thinking this is a good a segue as any. “We actually are now. Boyfriends, that is.”

A round of cutlery clanks around the table. Garth knocks over his glass of water. Suddenly all eyes are pointed at him like they’re waiting for the punchline.

“So...” Dean ventures aimlessly, feeling naked and awkward and like he wishes hell would open its jaws under him. “Yeah. Um...yeah. For real. No joke.”

Benny is looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Is this another one of your stupid pranks?”

That hits a little too close to home and Dean laughs in a little too high a pitch in response. “That—no—that would be a bit too ridiculous even for me. No. We—er—we actually are. Together. Now.” He rubs his hands nervously forwards and backwards on his jeans. “Um.”

“But you’re straight,” squeaks Garth in confusion.

This was the funniest thing Dean’s heard in awhile. He chortles, enjoying how honest he can be in this moment. “Yeah, turns out not so much. Really not so much.”

Bobby dabs at the spilt water around Garth with some napkins, frowning, at what exactly, Dean wasn’t too sure.

“Um...no one has a problem with this, right?” Dean asks, unexpectedly a little terrified.

“Hell, no!” Garth booms, smacking the table with gumption and bounding forwards like an excited puppy. “This is great! You two are awesome together!”

“I thought you two were already together,” Ash comments, casual and disinterested around his mouthful of pie crust.

Bobby snorts with laughter.

“Wait, what?” Dean blusters, eyes blown wide. “You’ve seen me with Lisa and—and other girls—“

Ash shrugs. “I thought it was maybe an open relationship type thing, until you guys settled down and adopted or something. I figured that’s why you hate Meg so much.”

“I hate _Meg_ because she’s a wicked demon of a person,” Dean protests.

“You hate Meg because she’s always taking up your seat next to Cas and flirting with him and sleeping with him,” Benny corrects.

Dean glowers at him, feeling called out. He’s finally willing to recognise some truth in these aspersions, but that doesn’t mean he appreciates it being vocalised and shared to all public ears.

Benny raises an eyebrow at Dean as if challenging him to deny it.

Dean huffs and turns his attention back to Ash. “You’ve known us for years! How have you been thinking all this time that we were anything more than friends?”

Ash squints at Dean. “Didn’t you guys get married like three or four years ago?”

“As a joke!”

Ash takes a huge bite of his pie and chews it thoughtfully. He appears to come to some kind of conclusion as he shakes his head. “Weird joke, man. Seems like only people with feelings for each other would do something like that.”

Dean gapes at him. “We had it annulled!”

“You do call him by terms of endearment a lot,” Garth pitches with a pensive slant of the head.

“That’s true,” chimes in Benny. “You’ve been calling him angel and sunshine since we were kids.”

“You’re always staring at him—”

“—finding any excuse to touch him—”

“—tease him—”

“—be around him all the time—”

“What is this? What’s happening?” Dean demands.

“Either he’d climb through the window when you were kids or you’d be missing from your bed at night,” Bobby tacks on. “Just because I didn’t stop it when it was in my house doesn’t mean I didn’t notice.”

“ _Then why didn’t you stop it_?” Dean demands shrilly.

“Didn’t want to walk in on anything. Not like the two of you could get pregnant.”

This elicits a round of laughter from the table. Dean balks. “We didn’t do anything! We just slept!”

“Bet you’re getting up to way more than sleeping now, aren’t you, Dean?” Garth reaches across the table to poke him jauntily.

Dean flushes a deep red as the table roars with friendly but salacious jabs.

All in all, the great reveal had been met with less shock and denial than he had anticipated. Hell, his own realisation of his feelings for Cas was met with more surprise than this.

It’s of his own masochism that he is driven forward to corner Bobby as they dispense with goodbyes and congratulations and promises to meet up again soon.

“You know, you didn’t really say much back there,” Dean remarks, falling into step with Bobby as he heads towards his truck.

“What do you want, boy, a gold star?” Bobby asks gruffly.

“Some acknowledgment would be nice.”

“Alright,” he says distractedly while he searches for his keys. “Well done for getting your head out of your ass before you hit your mid-thirties.”

“Wow. Um. Okay,” Dean mumbles. “Just feels a bit like your quiet is...an expression of disapproval, of sorts.”

“Don’t be stupid, Dean. I ain’t judgin’,” Bobby says.

Dean swallows thickly. “You’re not?”

“Didn’t I just say don’t be stupid?” Bobby mutters, smacking Dean affectionately on the arm. “You really think you gettin’ with Cas would ever be a problem for me or anyone else who loves you? Has that been what’s stopping you all this time?”

“More like my own stupidity,” Dean grumbles, kicking at a nearby rock and focusing his eyes on its tumble across the parking lot. “Spent most of my life not knowing where my happiness was when I had it by my side all along. Besides, it’s not like that’s the only thing stopping me. Cas would never—” he stops himself, almost forgetting that in this world, Cas does return his feelings.

“Never mind,” he says quietly. “That’s just what I used to think.”

“Well, that makes you dafter than I pegged you for. That boy’s been pining for you since you were about yea high.” Bobby brings his straightened hand to his chest.

“I doubt that very much,” Dean grouses under his breath.

“Idjit. Ask him, he’ll tell you.”

Dean smiles wanly. “Take it from all of this that you’ve always been okay with it? No need for me to start looking for adopted dad number two, is there?”

Bobby looks at him with beady eyes. “You really think I’m such an idjit that I didn’t know about you? The way your eyes always lingered on him…” Bobby scoffs. “Most of us knew before you did. I figured you wouldn’t want to be bombarded about it before you figured it out yourself. Especially not with…”

“A dad like mine, yeah.” Dean pauses then splutters. “Wait, _what_? You knew? Knew what? That I was gay?”

“I think the kids these days are calling it bi or tri or pan or stove or whatever else you want to call it. I’ve seen you around girls. I don’t think you’re gay, but hey, whatever works for you, kid.”

  
Dean raises his brow at Bobby, unimpressed. “If you’re trying to give me an LGBTQ talk, you’re doing a terrible job. Bit too cavalier and insensitive for the kids these days.”

“Look, son. I’m not going to pretend I know all the correct terms to use. If you’re happy, it shouldn’t bother you or anyone else what you call yourself,” he says seriously.

“Right,” Dean replies, frowning. “I’m pretty sure I’m just Cas-sexual these days anyway.”

“I don’t need to hear about you two bumping’ uglies.” Bobby waves a hand dismissively at Dean as he hops into his ride. “I’ll see you both for dinner some time next week, unless you decide to get hitched for real and forget to invite me again.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and as he turns, he bumps straight into Benny.

  
“Um—hey. Everything all right?”

“You’re my ride,” Benny says slowly like he’s explaining basic multiplication to a eight-year-old. “I just went to the bathroom for a second. Were you just going to leave without me?”

“Um...”

“Wow. Really, Dean?”

“You said see you later!”

“Because I needed to go to the bathroom!” Benny scowls at him from the side as they make their way towards the impala. “Andrea dropped me off and took the car. You said you’d give me a ride home. Have you knocked your head?”

“What can I say, man? Not really feeling super with it today, I guess,” Dean mutters, sliding into his seat and igniting the engine.

“Something on your mind?” Benny asks as he settles himself into the car. He stretches out comfortably, feet propping on Baby’s upholstery, one arm plastering against his side of the window.

Dean makes a low, threatening noise and smacks at his friend’s limbs. “Off. Now.”

Benny acquiesces, unbothered. “Is this about Cas?”

“Me being upset about you dirtying up my ride with your filthy shoes? Can’t say I see the connection, sorry.”

“You’re much surlier than usual, much more distracted,” Benny comments as he helps himself to the radio, sorting through until he finds a channel he likes. “Seems to me like there’s more to this whole thing than you’re letting on. So...is this about Cas?”

Dean’s breathing goes choppy and uneven. “Contrary to popular belief, I do think about things other than Cas you know.” It’s not a lie but it feels like one under this context.

“Hmm.”

“What’s that? What’s _hmm_?”

“Nothing. It’s just a sound.”

Dean glowers. He decides to leave it and instead shifts the car into gear, leaving the new spanking sign of Harvelle’s Roadhouse in the rearview mirror as he rolls Baby out the parking lot and onto the dusty roads.

“So this is all great.” Benny applauds his hands together cheerfully. Dean spares him a wary glance. “You and Cas. Almost too good to be true, isn’t it? You really ballsed up and did it. You’re finally together. What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” Dean’s squeaks, then clears his throat and makes sure to deepen it. “What catch? There’s no catch.”

Benny looks comfortable and at ease, though Dean suspects his languor is an act, that he’s alert and watching Dean intently for a misstep. They conduct general chitchat, neither vying too off course and into the dangerous territory of how Dean and Cas actually came to be. Benny never prods or pokes any further than ‘how’s the commitment life?’ or ‘you guys going to move into a house soon?’ or ‘what are y’all doing tonight?’

It unnerves Dean tremendously.

The minutes tick by, enough time lapsing for Dean to perspire through his undershirt. His flannel hides some physical remnants of his stress but his forehead is starting to bead noticeably with sweat. Benny goes to turn the airconditioning on for Dean’s sake, and he in turn slaps his hand away and turns the radio off instead.

Dean skids over to a standstill by the closest curb with a waft of gravel dust clouding in his wake.

  
His guilt has eaten up his concern for personal safety.

“Dean?”

“Benny. I’ve gotta tell you something, man.” Dean feels like he’s flying blind and he balls his free hand into a fist against his thigh to ground himself. He can hear the terror in his own voice, fracturing like splinters into the air.

“Hm?”

Dean sucks in a deep breath, gathering courage for the fallout. “It’s not real.”

Benny turns to stare at Dean blankly. “What do you mean?”

“It’s fake. Cas and me. We aren’t actually together.”

Benny shakes his head vigorously. Does-Not-Compute has evolved rapidly into No-Fucking-Way. “No, no, no. What do you mean?”

“We started all of this so I would have a good excuse to break up with Lisa. Meg staving off Cas was also a good bonus. It just—it just spiralled. It’s all pretend.”

Benny boggles at Dean, caught between stunned and furious. Eventually, he yells, “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, grimacing. “I must be, huh?”

“This is by far the _worst_ —and that’s saying a lot, Dean, considering all the bullshit you’ve pulled over the years—this is the _worst_ plan in the entire world!” he roars and reaches across the space between himself and Dean to give him a hard shove. “You are fucking insane!”

“Hey! Ow. Don’t assault me, asshole.”

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you—”

“Benny, you’ve gotta listen, man. Shit.” He pulls one hand from the steering wheel and rakes it across his head in a nervous gesture. “I’m in real deep shit. Out of all this—I—it’s gotten complicated. I think I like him.”

Benny freezes. “You think you what?”

“Well, I know. I like Cas.”

His friend gawks at him as if he’s the most stupid man on the planet, and at this point, he may very well just accept that he may be.

“You like Cas?”

“Yeah.” Dean chews on the inside of his cheeks. “Like... _like_ like.”

No reaction is given except for an open-mouthed stare.

Dean faces Benny with a pained expression. “Look, I know it seems crazy, but I—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Really? _Really_?” Benny shouts maniacally like a man possessed, his arms flying in every direction. It would be a comical sight if he didn’t appear so terrifying amidst his frenzy. “You think you like him! Is that a joke?”

“Er—”

“We are way past like, my friend!” he continues, voice raising with every word. “We sailed straight past like a decade or so ago! You are not this stupid, Dean!”

Dean focuses his eyes ahead of the unmoving road and squints, struck soundless, too overwhelmed by this scene to react in proper time and action.

“I have kept my mouth shut for so long because I didn’t want to out you to yourself. Charlie was very clear with me on that!”

“Wait, _Charlie_? You talked about this to Charlie?”

“Newsflash, asshole! We’re friends! We talk!”

“Alright, I’m gonna need you to take it down like a thousand notches.”

Benny glares at him so mightily that Dean shies his own eyes away. “Do you know how frustrating it’s been, watching you two dance around each other all these years? Do you? Do you know how many times we’ve wanted to just lock you two in a room until you either humped or realised you could be doing exactly that because you both have feelings for each other? There was one time in college where Rowena almost trapped you in an elevator together. It was very dangerous. I stopped her. You’re welcome.”

“Er—thanks?”

“Do you not remember me trying to have a conversation with you about this?”

“Not—not really?”

“Is there anyone else you can see yourself spending your life with besides Cas?”

“No?”

“Isn’t growing old with Cas a far more preferable option to you than settling down with the most perfect woman in the world?”

“Yeah?”

”Do you know who you stare at all the damn time?”

“Um...Cas?”

“When you go to sleep, who do you think about the most?”

“Cas.”

“When you wake up?”

“Cas.”

“What about just throughout the day?”

“Cas.”

Benny opens his arms wide, his wingspan extending to the point where he’s almost whacking Dean in the face with his outspread hands.

“Come on, brother, I know you can do it.”

“Shit.” Dean’s pulse thumps in his ears. “I’m in love with Cas.”

Benny closes his eyes and claps his hands together in a prayer gesture. “Hallelujah!”

“I’m the stupidest guy you know, aren’t I?” Dean mutters, head lolling back with mental exhaustion.

“You’re one of the smartest guys I know,” Benny interjects with a softened but still firm approach. “You worked your ass off at Bobby’s garage to pay for Sam’s college, you worked your ass off even harder to invest in his business, and now you’re a freelance mechanic eating dividends off of a very successful venture. You believe in all the right people. You just...have to start believing in yourself too. Tell him, Dean. Please, for the love of god, tell him so we can all move on with our lives.”

“He doesn’t—” Dean shakes his head. “He doesn’t feel that way about me. He’s straight.”

Benny blinks. “You know what? No.” He spins around and begins a frenetic skirmish with his car door in a pitiful attempt to open it.

“It’s locked, dude.”

“No!” Benny turns back around so he can point an accusatory finger at Dean. “One big reveal is all the energy I have to crack out of you today. I’m not doing this one too. Let me out. I’m going home.”

“What the fuck, man? We’re like ten blocks away from where you live.”

“I’ll walk! You’re making me lose my goddamn mind, Dean!”

“Is this a fight? Are we in a fight?”

“No, dumbass. I just need to clear my head. You’ve given me far too much to process here.” As Dean glumly unlocks his passenger’s door, Benny sighs. “Jesus, Dean. Do you remember I once warned you that you and Cas are one day going to spiral straight into something fantastically stupid? This is it. How did you think this was a good idea?”

Dean grimaces. At least he’s not mentioned to Benny yet that he’s been making out with Cas like a touch-staved teenager. He reckons that would be the final nail in the coffin of Benny’s sanity.

They mumble their goodbyes and Dean rolls off back in the direction of home in an agitated temper.

He’s in love with his best friend who he’s in a pretend relationship with which is going to have to come to an end soon which will result in the collective upset of all their friends and family who apparently believe in this relationship more than the American public do in the moon landing, and Dean has no idea how he’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to find anything better than what he’s gotten from Cas in this silly little scheme that has given him the most cherished snippet of his wildest dreams.

Jesus christ.

He circles around their street a few times, thrown between intermingled dread and delight. Eventually, Dean bites the bullet and gingerly pads inside his home.

“Honey, I’m home,” he announces, monotone.

Cas is sitting in his usual spot, reading.

He looks up and flashes a gummy grin at Dean that makes his gut feel like it drops away from its holding place inside of him.

“I thought you were going out for beers after the job. I don’t have anything planned for us, I’m afraid. Although I must say it’s a nice surprise to see you.”

Dean shrugs and finds his spot next to Cas, far closer than acceptable for two buds. He’s too mentally exhausted to care at this point. “I’d rather sit next to you and do nothing than spend time with other people, doing stuff.”

“Oh. I—me too, I suppose.” Cas returns to his book, though his eyes don’t dart from word to word on the pages. He seems caught in his own thoughts. He’s biting his lip. His ears have pinkened at its edges.

Dean stretches an arm over Cas shoulder’s and shuffles closer until their thighs are pressed side by side. “Sammy and Eileen gone home?”

“He’s finally going back to work tomorrow.” Cas says, setting his book aside on their coffee table. “They said they’ll be over again next weekend if we’re not doing anything. I asked them to stay for dinner tonight but I think they miss being home themselves.”

“Oh, shit.” Dean gulps. “Right. Dinner. Shit. I didn’t get the friggin’ mushrooms.”

Cas observes him with a soft smile and amusement gleaming in his eyes, rather than the mock-scorn Dean had been expecting.

“So...you forgot the mushrooms after all.”

He dips his head, abashed. “And the chicken—and—and the pasta. Pretty much forgot all the ingredients, heh.”

Cas scants his head, his smile widening. “I’ll make you something that requires no mushrooms or chicken or pasta.”

“Oh—um—you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Dean hides his face with his hands and groans. “You’re too good to me. Stop it. I’m always fucking up and you’re always here and—and I don’t deserve it.”

“You certainly do,” Cas reproaches, nudging Dean’s knee with his. “Now what do you want for dinner?”

“To die.”

“I’m not sure how to cook that,” Cas replies airily.

“Hot broth with a tablespoon of cyanide in it.”

“Sorry, I don’t have any cyanide on hand. How about a light salad instead?”

“Fine,” he mumbles childishly, but his face betrays his petulance by quirking his lips at Cas. “You’re my favourite person you know. I wish I just stayed home with you today. It was a damn two-person job.”

“Take it telling people didn’t go very well?” Cas ventures hesitantly.

“It did go very well.” Dean’s shoulders slump. “Not so much when I ended up spilling the beans to Benny in the car. I...I told him everything.”

Cas’ mouth drops open. “You told him everything?”

“I told him everything.”

“Everything?” Cas gasps.

“Everything.”

Cas grows into a pale shade of his normal pallor. “Oh, dear.”

“Oh, dear sounds about right.”

“Is he...is going to...tell other people?”

“Nah. I don’t think so.” Dean shakes his head, pats Cas on the back reassuringly. “We’re still...in this for awhile.”

“But—but—why—why did you tell him—”

“Because I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“Our secret?”

My secret, Dean almost shouts.

Then he realises he did.

“Your secret? Dean, I thought we established this.” Cas frowns. “We’re in this together.”

“Yeah?” Dean mimics Cas with a tip of his own head to the side, hoping he accomplishes at least a shard of the cuteness that it adorns Cas with. “You happy to stay my boyfriend for a bit then, hot stuff?”

“I already agreed—”

“Oh, so you agree? You think you’re hot stuff?”

Cas fights against an emerging smirk, Dean can tell.

“Oh, come on. You love that movie,” Dean says close to Cas’ ear. His face twitches and he looks away to deny Dean the satisfaction of his mirth which only heightens said satisfaction. Dean throws his head back and emits a boisterous laugh.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. Mean Girls was a fabulous film.”

“Fabulous? You know, keep talking like that and you’re gonna be fabulous at the gay thing.” Dean waggles his brows suggestively.

“The gay thing? Have I always been wrong to assume that the only valid predicator of homosexuality is same-sex attraction? Oh, do enlighten me, Dean,” he says with dramatic overtone. “What if I start wearing pink or—or talk about my feelings or iron my laundry or live above sub-human standards? Would that mean one would suddenly change their sexuality accordingly?” He huffs with scorn. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey! This morning I was the bee’s knees to you.” Dean leans his head lovingly into Cas’, smushing their cheeks together to Cas’ immediate flinch away. It hurts his feelings, but only for just a moment because Cas then stands and drops a kiss to the top of Dean’s forehead.

“I’m going to make you dinner now. Boyfriend.”

Dean’s lips quirk at Cas. He must look very stupid and happy because Cas laughs softly at him and then bends down to press a quick peck to Dean’s lips in a strangely familiar way.

  
He associates this kind of kiss with domesticity and husbands and honey, I’m home.

“Was that okay?” Cas says quietly, millimetres from Dean. His breath fans over him, warm and tinged with notes of the toffee-coffee Dean enjoys secretly on mild afternoons. 

“That’s my coffee,” he murmurs. “You found my secret girly coffee and you drank it.”

“Sorry?”

“No, I—I didn’t mean—sorry. I meant to say—um—yeah.” He exhales in the same second as an involuntary smile emerges and a pulse of butterflies flutter against the cavities of his chest.

  
“This is all okay,” he assures to Cas’ mildly stunned face. “Very okay, in fact.”

“I figured we’d start getting into more of a habit of...you know—being a couple.”

“Yeah, yes—def—definitely.”

Dean’s heart is hovering somewhere near his navel and Cas is still hovering somewhere near his face still. He surges forward and captures his lips in another tender but brief kiss, before releasing his friend and falling backwards.

Cas falls into a crouching position. Dean wants to launch forwards.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Cas murmurs in a subdued tone.

Dean blinks at him stupidly. “Like what?”

Cas wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I don’t know, it’s just...different.”

He almost says it. He almost tells him. He parts his lips and no sound comes out but he wills it too and it almost does until Cas’ face morphs from wonder to a sort-of frown. The latter expression morphs just as quick as the first did into something different, cheery and friendly, and he stands, moves away from Dean.

He kicks him gently on his shin. “I’m making you ratatouille. A salad isn’t going to sustain you but you still need to eat some vegetables.”

They’re back to ‘normal’ sooner than Dean would prefer, and yet, normal is still fantastic. 

The looming doom is no longer the end of this pretend, but the end of the close quarters of their friendship. It’s dawned on Dean with a galvanising fear that Cas may be doing this with someone else in the near future. Perhaps not Meg, but definitely someone Dean cannot fit into the mould of.

After dinner, the dinner which Dean keeps picking at until there’s only half a portion left and they end up just picking at the rest with their fingers and eating standing in the kitchen, they meander in a sleepy direction towards Dean’s bedroom.

Cas pauses with a foot into the room.

He looks up at Dean like a deer caught in headlights. “So...”

“Um...”

“Sorry. I suppose my room is free again now.”

“Yeah.”

“I could...”

“Or you know,” Dean quickly interjects. “I’ve gotten pretty used to not being alone in bed. It’s...nice. You could still—if you want—”

“Yes, please,” Cas fumbles out quickly, then casts his gaze away once he catches himself.

Dean boldly takes Cas’ hand and pulls him forward. “Come on.”

They silently get dressed for bed.

Dean notices with a mild displeasure and gratefulness and surprise that Cas is not staying undressed once he rid himself of his clothes. He grabs Dean’s spare set of pajamas.

“Do you mind?”

“What’s mine is yours, hun.”

Red-faced, Dean diverts his gaze away as Cas dresses.

If he wanted, he could look. He could stare. It wouldn’t raise any unseemly suspicions. They’ve done much less and much more and Dean has seen him naked more times than he would care to think about. If he reimagined his memories, it would likely send him into a mild panic attack.

They both stagger into bed more awkwardly than they’ve approached kissing.

Cas whirls into his side after a few moments of tossing and turning. Dean’s breath arrests when their cheeks rub together accidentally in Cas’ plight to gather them closer.

“Hey,” Dean whispers. “Cas?”

“Mm?” Cas hums sweetly.

Their hands flit close so Dean could feel his gooseflesh brush against Cas’ knuckles.

Dean swallows.

Unbidden, the words soar out, cloaked thankfully in familiarity. “Love you.”

“Mm, love you too,” Cas mumbles back, half-asleep, flops onto his back and yawns.

Dean aches with want.


End file.
